The Dead Chronicles Part One: The Sound of Silence
by TerminalMadness83
Summary: Two people marooned on a building roof in the middle of the city struggle to keep their sanity and hide from a sea of the undead unaware of their presence. Now, they must figure out a way to escape...
1. Prologue: Carnage

**PROLOGUE**

There arose feedback from the television monitor as a test pattern popped up from the black screen of a television, and instantly the loud whirring sound filled the air. Suddenly, a sign reading "Channel 4 news" appeared and the announcer began,

"We bring you from the Channel Four news in Chicago, an emergency broadcast from reporter Thom Jacobs."

There arose frantic and distinct mutters in the background of the studio as a frazzled and distressed reporter with his tie loose and hair messed up sat at his chair with papers in his hand as people walked back and forth past the television cameras. He cleared his throat and fixed his hair as the cameraman signaled to him.

"Good day," he began, "At this moment…we are broadcasting from an affiliate studio in the outskirts of Death Valley, a rather isolated location where we're miles from human contact…hopefully. It's been a rather trying few months, and for those who have managed to survive, we hope that god guides you."

He held his hand up to his mouth as his emotions began flooding and tears ran down his eyes, "We've held up in this studio for a few months," he began with a shivery voice followed by light whimpers, "There have only been a few survivors and we took the helicopter and fled…" He looked around in confusion as people in the studio began rushing back and forth and he immediately continued.

"Back in the country we've experienced this widespread epidemic of this disease," he explained, "No one has been able to discover what it is and where it originated, and basically no one has had the chance to because it's just spread so fast. Last we heard, much of the countries in the US have been overtaken by this epidemic, Europe and much of the middle east are experiencing this outbreak, and there doesn't seem to be any way of stopping it. In the last few months we have witnessed the depletion of humanity that has spread like wildfire. The president has fled to an unknown location, so has many of the US government."

He brushed his hair back and sighed heavily as he fumbled with his papers, "If there is anyone out there who has managed to survive these last months, the best I can say is: hold on, god will save you. At the moment there seem to be minimal amount of military air rescue, all the hospitals and public areas have closed down, and the power plants have all shut down. We're operating at this moment on a generator and antennae in the middle of the desert, and we're doing our best to stay alive and keep our sanity. There's no hope of recovery and many religious leaders have proclaimed this as the apocalypse. We're down to the wire, here folks; who knew it'd happen so soon? If there is anyone out there, anyone with resources and capabilities who can save us, please, we're at the middle of the death valley somewhere near the old airstrip. Please."

Suddenly, the people in the studio began talking aloud as the reporter rose from his seat quickly gazing in fright. "What's happening?" he muttered softly. The studio hands ran back and forth as the camera man yelled to him, his words hardly comprehendible. He gasped aloud in fright and sat down looking at the screen, "At the moment," he began and began shaking in fright, "there are groups of the infected outside our doors. We're not sure how they've discovered us, but they seem to be gathering very quickly." He began whimpering aloud, and stood up as distant slams could be heard in the distance, "To everyone, I bid you farewell and may god be with you all." He looked ahead in horror as growls could be heard within the studio and the camera spun as shadows dashed by the lens… then the screams began, and finally…dead air.


	2. The Sound of Silence: Chapter One

I used to hear from people that in the end of the world, doomsday, there'd be plenty to fear. In the end of the world, there'd be a grand war between man that would shake the earth to its core, in the end of the world, there'd be an onslaught of nuclear explosions that would bring upon a nuclear holocaust, in the end of the world there'd nuclear winter and plagues, in the end of the world humanity would no longer exist. They were wrong, there was no war, there was no nuclear winter, but there was a plague, and it snuck in under the radar.

Before the military could respond, before the big man could turn the keys and press the button, the world was over with the quiet hush of death. People, human beings were dead, and just like that… they were alive and became flesh eating monsters, those that were lucky enough, died, those unlucky enough survived, those cursed were eaten and turned into one of those things walking outside, but then again… maybe they were right after all, when doomsday came there was plenty to fear, and it was **_ them_…**

**  
THE DEAD CHRONICLES, PART ONE:****  
THE SOUND OF SILENCE**  
Written by Felix Vasquez Jr.

"Walk", he said pushing her from behind. They walked along the roof of the large mall side by side as the rain poured down on them. The two figures stood shrouded in rain slickers holding two large assault rifles, a shotgun hung from the man's shoulder. A young light-skinned woman with long brown hair kept her face hidden beneath the hood as her friend, an older man with very short graying hair, and a slim physique walked behind her pushing her forward.

"Walk," he said sternly, "Stop it."

"I can't help it," she said walking ahead as he continued pushing her forward. She turned her head slightly as he noticed and pushed her again. Luckily for them the roof was large, about the size of a basketball court, and that day the skies were dark gray, and it poured as the two walked along the roofs. The young woman's name was Monica, a woman in her early twenties who had teamed with Devon, an older war veteran in his forties who journeyed with her along the roofs of the mall.

"Will you stop!" Devon said in a loud whisper.

"I can't help it," she argued, "They're right down there."

"Listen," he said walking up to her, looking into her eyes, "The more you look at them the harder it's going to get, understand?"

"They're looking at us," she said with a quivery voice.

"No, they're not," he replied, "They don't even know we're up here."

"Then why are they around here?"

"I don't know," he replied with a stutter, "It's just what they're doing okay? But you have to stop looking at them."

"What about you?" she asked.

"I was in the war, I saw people get their heads blown off, people impaled, people's limbs blown away, I can handle it, you can't, get it?" he asked, "You're twenty, you haven't seen shit."

"Until now," she said sadly.

"Look, I wish I could do something to take you away, but unfortunately, we're stuck dead center in the middle of all this shit," he explained, "We have to keep going, alright?" She wiped the tears from her eyes, tears that she had been crying for months now as Devon patted her shoulder to console her the best he could. Down below, along the streets, walkways, alleys, buildings, stairwells they were there, the infected, the walking dead, hungry cannibals, hundreds and hundreds of them clogging up the space to walk, the space to breath and as the rain poured, their flesh began to smell stronger.

The doctors, the lawyers, the mothers, the sisters, the neighbors, all of them now mindless eating machines who lumbered around the streets beside each other, their mouths wide open almost as if to cry out in agony or pain, their flesh peeled, some rotted, and others bore revealing bite marks all over their face. One woman's neck was torn down to the bone as if one had eaten her neck and didn't finish the job. These were human beings once, people who tried to get on with their lives, now they were mindless rotting drones, ghosts of the past, ghosts of a past civilization, and constant reminders that the world was over. Only few humans were left on Earth now, and as time progressed, natural selection had taken control and the infected outnumbered the human one-hundred to one, they were a new race now, and the human was extinct, or near extinction. There were no more magazines, books, or television, only survival, resorting back to primitive methods to stay alive to see another day, it was kill or be killed.

Devon and Monica were partners now for months, both relied on one another, both tried to find food without being killed, and many times they found themselves struggling to stay alive. They'd stopped along the roof of a store, they weren't sure what store, or where they'd settled but either way, they were safe, so it didn't matter. What they did know was that the roof they'd stopped on had a large sill which held the store's sign that blocked them, keeping them out of sight from the infected. Luckily for them, it'd stopped raining and summer was still months away.

"What time is it?" asked Monica.

"I don't know," Devon said turning his wrist revealing three watches, "4 o'clock, it's pretty early."

"What day is it?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" asked Devon, "This is nice, we'll settle here for the rest of the day."

"They can't see us," Monica said acknowledging the sign that blocked them, "It'll be better here."

"God," Devon said with a heavy sigh as he dropped to the floor lying along the cold concrete of the roof. Monica stood over him inspecting her gun just in case. Devon laid his rifle on his stomach and lay in the center of the roof groaning in exhaustion. Their day was long and they'd spent all of it running and hiding and looking for food. She leaned down on the floor and groaned as she lay down beside Devon laying her gun on her stomach.

"Oh, man," she groaned softly, "I am tired."

"I'm too old for this shit," replied Devon, "We have to find somewhere to stay."

"There is nowhere," argued Monica, "I'll tell you what though, tomorrow I'll call my real estate agent."

"Yeah," he said chuckling, "You do that."

"Look at that," she said pointing at the large apartment complex that stood on the side of the small building they were on; "You think there's anybody there?"

"Not likely," he replied gazing at the dark motionless windows and fire escapes, "Anyone who is there is dead, undead, or hiding."

"Weird," she said looking up in the clouds, "I don't hear them."

"Be thankful," Devon warned her, "When they start making noise is when you should worry. It means either they've found someone, or they've spotted us, and then we're really fucked."

"Do you really think we can keep this up without being spotted?" she asked.

"Yes and no," he replied, "I spent four years doing this, so I can pull it off, but then at the time I was fifteen, so..."

"That's re-assuring," she replied.

"I can sleep for weeks," he said wiping his eyes.

"How about four hours?" asked Monica.

"Good enough," replied Devon.

"Where did we stop?" asked Monica.

"Who knows?" replied Devon, "Looks like a pharmacy or insurance place or something."

"Why can't we stop at a store?" she asked, "At least then we could knock a hole into the floor and get food."

"Okay," he argued, "Climb down and look for a store, if you find one let me know, and we'll walk over there."

"You don't have to be a dick about it," she replied.

"Go to sleep, huh?" he said turning around to lie on his side. She sat up looking at him in frustration as he quickly dozed off. It was hopeless and pretty ridiculous to argue with one another in their current situation, and they had to like each other, because, whether they knew it or not, they needed one another.

They lumbered around one another that morning, almost commuting, and traveling, but to where they didn't know. With their flesh rotting and the rain heightening the already rank smell of death, they staggered around slowly, some still dressed in suits, and others walked in shorts as suddenly a head within the crowd exploded, brain fragments and rotting flesh flying every which way, none of them flinched or acknowledged the incident. "Good!" Devon boasted as he and Monica lay beside each other practicing her sharp shooting. "Good job," Devon said patting her back, "You're getting a lot better." Sharp shooting and practicing was a daily routine for the two that had suddenly sprung from their survival.

Though Devon had already known how to shoot and shoot well being a sniper in his old infantry, he was training Monica just in case, and she was surprising him with her hidden skills and resourcefulness. They both lay beside one another behind the large sign, hiding behind the massive letters. Though one of the corpses head had exploded, the infected were not aware of their location. Within the battle zone, the one thing they had perfected was stealth. Though it was brutally hard to find a hiding spot in the city what with the walking dead inhabiting all corners of the streets and alleyways leaving no room for running, fire escapes, sewers, attics, vents, and most of all, rooftops became their only route for survival. They'd considered hiding for extended periods but it was too hard; basements were basic deathtraps with little air, no water or heat, and if they were discovered they'd be cornered, so attics were natural choices.

The rooftop they inhabited at the moment was a good spot, for now. The roof was concrete and black so they didn't stand out and when they walked they always crouched behind the sills and signs that blocked their appearance. The trick they'd mastered was dressing in dark clothing, always in dark clothing as Devon did in Vietnam; they always had to blend in. They always spoke softly and often talked for hours, because it was all there was to do. Monica lay behind the sign looking at the corpses through her rifle scope, their faces blank, and their eyes as white as pearls. The deafening silence in the city was horrifying to her, being a city girl by birth the quiet was almost too much for her to bear.

"Right in the head," Devon said with a smirk.

"I'm getting good at this," replied Monica.

"But if you're faced with one of them it becomes a whole new ballgame," Devon warned, "They're not going to wait for you to reload or cock your gun. You gotta be Dirty Harry."

"Shit, how about "good job"? How about "Excellent work"?" she asked annoyed.

"You shot it, in the head, what more do you want?" he asked frustrated.

"I want to be like Superman and fly away somewhere far," she groaned with a frown.

"Sorry, kid," Devon replied patting her back, "For now all we got is these rifles, a shotgun and my knowledge. Let's get back to work, okay?" She aimed, pulled back the hammer of the rifle and shot blasting a corpse in the shoulder knocking it to the ground.

"Damn," Monica groaned pulling the rifle back.

"You're distracted," argued Devon.

"No, I'm not," Monica insisted.

"Focus, goddamnit," Devon said pushing her, "You have to stay focused."

She sighed heavily brushing her hair from her face and pulled the rifle up to her eye looking through the scope. "Get the big one," Devon said. She focused and pressed her finger on the trigger softly and suddenly looked away taking deep steady breaths and looked into the scope once again. Devon noticed her dismay and watched her as she sighed pressing her finger softly against the trigger. There was a silence for a moment as she sighed, unable to press the trigger. "I can't do this," she muttered walking off.

"What's wrong?" asked Devon.

"I-I-I can't look at them anymore, okay?" she complained, "I can't. They're looking right at me, I can't take it anymore."

"Get back here and shoot," Devon ordered ignoring her complaints.

"I can't watch them," she said with a soft whimper, "They're disgusting, and rotting, and they used to be alive, I mean it's disrespectful. I can hear them at night, I can hear them! I mean goddamnit why are they walking around here! All they do is walk around and stand there, and I can feel them looking at me."

Devon didn't speak except lay on his side on his elbow looking at her sit against the brick sill as she wiped her tears with shaky hands, they were the hands of someone so young who'd seen too much horror, but there's was nothing Devon or anyone else could do for her. "Oh god," she whispered leaning her head into her knees; "I'm cracking up, ain't I? I'm going off the fucking deep end."

"We both are," Devon replied unscrewing the scope from the rifle.

"Do you think there's anyone else around here?" she asked, "Anyone who might be hiding or something?"

"Maybe," explained Devon, "But let's not kid ourselves here, we're probably the only ones in this city alive."

"We can't keep this up for long, you know," Monica said rocking back and forth nervously, "We're going to get older and slower. We're going to be sixty and running, and sooner or later, they're going to catch up."

"We're not going to live to be sixty," Devon declared. They gazed at one another knowing his declaration was all the reality that stood at face value at that moment, it was brutal honesty that Monica needed, they wouldn't live to be sixty, but she didn't know how they'd die, perhaps suicide, or murder, but either way, they were doomed.

"You have to fight it," replied Devon, "Okay? Keep a straight head. The more we crack up the more useless we become."

"How do **_you_** fight it?" asked Monica.

"Memories," replied Devon, "Right now, it's all we really have. Memories of the past, relics of what used to be. You know, you have to fight it, you let them get to you and they win and you may as well just climb down and throw yourself at them. I don't need a babbling screaming lunatic, I need you focused, I need you calm, and I need you here with me, alright? Now come over here and let's keep practicing."

She groaned softly and wiped her tears crawling over to him and grabbed her rifle screwing the scope back on. "Now, point, aim, and focus," said Devon, "and shoot them without thinking. You think and you miss." She looked through the scope and without hesitation began shooting them one by one knocking them off their feet.


	3. The Sound of Silence: Chapter Two

They continued staggering around like cattle in a pen, bumping and softly moaning, their arms dangling, feet dragging, the stench so close almost forcing its way up their noses. She shot with gritted teeth blasting the bullet into one's head as it dropped to the ground, the blood never pouring from their skulls due to the prolonged rotting on their bodies, only its brains plopped from it's now separated.

"Why are they so slow now?" asked Monica.

"I don't know," replied Devon, "But they were running like a bitch when they cornered me in my apartment."

"My mom chased me for about half a mile before she gave up and began chasing after Randy Norris," she explained staring through the scope.

"Who's Randy Norris?" asked Devon.

"A three year old I used to baby sit on the weekends," she explained.

"Did you help him?" asked Devon.

"I was so frightened," explained Monica "Came close to being run over four times, I just didn't give a shit. She probably killed him, but who the fuck knows? One thing I do remember though, my neighbor Mrs. Sheldon, a nice old lady who lived four doors down from us, she was in the middle of the street walking right in the center with all the carnage going on around her with this huge jagged neck bite, I mean her skin was torn and blood was pouring down her breasts and she was just-walking around in her pink night gown with a far off look in her face."

"She was dead," asked Devon.

"No, not dead," replied Monica"More-shocked and frightened... amazing, she lived through the holocaust, and this shocked her."

"What happened to her?" asked Devon.

"I don't know," replied Monica, "Probably died, probably eaten, probably turned, I try not to think about it too much."

"Maybe-the virus takes so quick to kill those, rigomortis hasn't set in yet," explained Devon, "I've been watching them. Before they were running, and now they're just walking really fast, and soon I figure they'll just lumber around."

"Maybe they'll rot, I mean they are dead bodies," explained Monica.

"Could take years, decades even," replied Devon, "We have a better chance of finding a permanent place to hide than they do of rotting to nothing."

"So, it's a chance," asked Monica.

"I don't know," replied Devon, "It's been about four months from what I guessed, depending on their deaths and how long they've actually been dead, maybe three years from now they'll be rotten."

"So, there is hope?" asked Monica.

"No," replied Devon as Monica looked over at him disappointed, "What did I say before? These days, there's no such thing as hope or faith, there's only one thing."

"Survival," she replied nodding.

"And that's all that really matters," explained Devon, "Shoot."

That night, the moon was large and bright, the night air carried with it a sense of comfort that Devon and Monica knew would be oh so fleeting amidst the little camp they'd set up on the roof in the middle of the city. The concrete had become very familiar to them, cold but sometimes very warm, the tops of the buildings still smoked from the fires and explosions, cars still smoked lying sideway on the curbs, parked cars still vacant. The sun didn't shine as much as it used to, maybe it was the gods sparing the two from heat and unbearable light, or maybe somewhere, the gods had known that the world had ended and didn't see fit to give Earth sunshine. Monica prayed for a catastrophe everyday, something that would turn the Earth inside out into a shell, and wipe out everything in existence ridding her of the hell she was experiencing daily. She and Devon cuddled close to one another for warmth and for relief that there was someone there in the morning. Devon lay on his back with his winter cap pulled down over his eyes, Monica lay on her side, her head on Devon's arm, her body curled in a ball hiding beneath her rain slicker as the night was pretty quiet.

All of that seemed to immediately change as from a distance, police sirens could be heard, it was something that quickly prompted Devon and Monica to sit up and they rushed over to the side of the building, crouching down with their heads peeking out, watching as two armed cars screeched down the street in front of a building across from them and out jumped a group of armed officers. Monica gasped aloud with happiness about to shout to them as Devon grasped her body and covered her mouth shushing her as he pulled her down.

"What are you doing?" she whispered tearing his hand from her mouth, "They can help us."

"Stop and think," he explained, "Look." The large tide of infected that had commuted in front of the stores had suddenly turned as they all drew notice to the pack officers that kicked open the door raiding the building with guns blazing and began running across the streets towards them, the officers unaware of the massive crowd approaching them quickly.

"Oh god," Monica whispered in fright watching the group of infected quickly make their way to the building, "Oh, god, no." In the distance, in the building, there was too much silence, and then suddenly, the lights flickered in the rooms as guns blazed violently, the screams of officers barking orders heard in the distance. Suddenly, as the infected made their way to the building, they began quickly climbing the steps, their hands clenched in front of them as they emerged into the building entrance grabbing an officer from behind as he screamed.

He and a corpse fell off the stairwell onto the ground, his gun going off in the air as two other infected approached tearing into him as he let out a horrible cry, his guns continued going off rapidly. Monica whimpered in horror and she dug her face into Devon's chest as he continued watching. There emerged a silence once more as the officers could be seen through the window roaming the building and finally shots began ringing out into the silence, and then the screams of the officers, horrible screams of pain and horror that seemed to echo throughout the air of the night. The fire was rapid, almost like explosions, and then slowly but gradually, the gunshots faded out one by one into deafening silence.

Devon awaited fire from within, but there was still silence, and nothing else. They'd been overpowered, and they'd lost. Though it was only a small group of officers, it was almost as if it were the last stand of the human race, and like the human race, they'd lost. Their only hope for escape was gone, Monica's hope had instantly faded, and as much as Devon hated to admit it, even he'd put hope as he saw their trucks arrive, but there was nothing left. Monica cried aloud in sadness and at the realization that things were hopeless, and Devon did nothing but hold her face to his chest to muffle her cries and watch the building settle. The morning had crept up on them, and the sill cast a shadow over the two as they slept. Monica fell asleep with her face nuzzled in Devon's chest. Devon settled close to her, his hand still grasping the back of her head.

The silence was thick that early dawn as the sun had finally risen, but nowhere on them, all they could see was the sunshine in the shadows of the tall buildings that shielded them. Devon awoke first, his hand still on Monica's head and rested his head on the cold tar looking across the street at the building. The engines to the SWAT trucks had shut off after hours of running, it ironically became noise to soothe them to sleep, noise they hadn't heard in months, noise they missed most about the city. Devon could see the shadows inside the building, he knew they weren't officers and even if any of the officers were around, they weren't alive. He could also see the fully eaten officer under the stairwell, the one that had fallen. All that remained were a few of his limbs and a pool of dry blood which caused Devon to groan in disgust.

"What time is it?" asked Monica as she woke.

"I don't give a shit," replied Devon as he sat up groaning in exhaustion.

"The engine shut off," Monica said looking across the street.

"It went for six hours," replied Devon, "Shut off two hours ago."

"Was I asleep for that long?" she asked lying on her back as Devon blew into his hands.

"Must have been," he looked at his watches, "-Eight hours. That's the most we slept in months."

"I think the engines put me to sleep," she said pulling her hood over her eyes.

"Me too," replied Devon as he sat in a ball, leaning his head down on his knees.

"They didn't survive," Monica said sadly, "None of them did... right"

"Hard to say," replied Devon, "If I had to put money on it, though, I'd say they all died."

"What do you think they were there for?" asked Monica.

"Probably mis-informed," replied Devon, "By the look of the surprise on their faces, the way they looked at those fuckers as they walked into the building, the gunfire, and the size of their squad, they were completely unprepared."

"Then why send them there to be slaughtered?" she asked.

"Who the fuck knows anymore?" asked Devon, "These days the government don't know their ass from their hands. They don't know what's up or down anymore."

"It's freezing," she said shivering.

"Oh yeah," Devon said blowing into his hands, "But we're in luck, we got pop tarts for breakfast."

"Yay," Monica replied in disgust twirling her fingers sarcastically, "Pop tarts... again... fourth month in a row. How about something hot for breakfast?"

"No way," replied Devon, "We can't cook; they'll see the smoke, and then **_we_** become the breakfast." He tossed the silver package to her as she unwrapped it and with hesitation bit into it, her eyes watering from disgust as she forced it down.

"Ugh," she complained with a full mouth, "This is disgusting."

"It's food," replied Devon, "Be glad we have it."

Devon rotated still sitting on the concrete and began looking at the building to their side in silence. "Oh god," Monica said observing him; "We're going to move again, aren't we?"

"We have to," replied Devon, "We have to move on."

"We're safe, we're cozy," Monica argued, "Why do we have to move from here and run again?"

"Because inevitably they're going to see us," explained Devon, "The trick is to keep one step ahead of them. Always keep one step ahead of them."

"They're too busy over there," argued Monica.

"That's the good thing about it," replied Devon "We have to go there." The building was dark and ominous, and far from inviting, but he was devising something.

"Jump?" asked Monica in surprise as she sat up, "There's no way we can make it."

"Of course we can," replied Devon, "We just take one jump and land on that fire escape, and then we just climb up."

"What if something pops out from those windows and grabs us?" she asked.

"That's the trick: we have to be fast," explained Devon, "Listen, we've done worse, okay."

"I know," she said, "I'm just tired of running."

"This is your life now," replied Devon, "Get used to it. You've done pretty good for all this time and you didn't even go to world war two or Vietnam."

"Alright," she said sitting beside Devon analyzing the apartment complex, "Let's do it."

"We have two hours to rest and relax, and gather our bearings," explained Devon, "Then we start, okay? There must be-seven blocks of roofs for us to walk through."

"How do you know that?" asked Monica.

"I used to live in a building like that," replied Devon, "Back in Brooklyn me and all the kids in the neighborhood used to hang out there during the summer. Those roofs would connect for miles; we would just walk through them like it was another world."

"Do you think there are people there?" she asked anxiously.

"Maybe," replied Devon, "But don't get too excited."

"Why?" she asked.

"Well, in times like these we might come across some really bad people who will kill us for our clothes and supplies," he explained, "It's survival of the fittest now, you know? And then we might come across the people who just are hiding and don't intend on moving from their spot, they might even be housing a few of their undead relatives in one of those rooms."

"God," Monica groaned packing her unfinished pop tart in her backpack, "Ugh, I can't eat this shit, anymore," she explained brushing her hands off on her clothes, "I'd give anything for a big bowl of chili."

"A bacon double cheeseburger," Devon smiled with a far off gaze biting into his pop tart"And a big tall glass of beer."

"A bucket of fried chicken," Monica boasted, "and a chocolate milk shake."

"Promise me something," Devon said putting his arm around her shoulder, "If I die, just move on, okay."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"If I don't make the jump, fall off, or get eaten or something, just move on," he warned, "Just don't give a shit, okay?"

"That's kind of hard, isn't it?" she replied smiling with tears in her eyes "I mean, you saved me, you been like a father." He gave her a stern slap across the face as she gazed at him with a shocked expression looking into his eyes.

"Shut up," he said sternly, looking into her eyes, suddenly becoming mean, a person she hasn't seen since they met, "Do not give a shit, got it?"

"I can't," she replied with her mouth wide open in shock, "I lo-"

"-No," he whispered slapping her once again, "You gotta toughen up, understand me"

"Okay," she replied holding her cheek in surprise.

"This is war, understand?" he asked, "I hate to have to do this, girl, but you gotta toughen up, and the best way to is to not give a shit, do you understand?"

"I got it," she replied holding her face.

"No emotional attachments, no "I love you" bullshit, no nothing," he explained sternly, "You can't give a shit. Now, it's all about you. You see me being attacked, you see anyone getting attacked, you run away and don't look back, do you understand?"

"That's cowardly," she argued.

"That's survival," he replied angrily.

"Did you ever leave one of your men behind in Vietnam?" she asked.

"This isn't fucking Vietnam," he declared, "Wake up! We're not in a foxhole being shot at by dickless Vietcong who want to put us in some god forsaking camp, we're on a roof in the middle of god knows where being stalked by fucking walking corpses who want to tear us apart and eat us alive from the outside in, okay?"

"I got it," she replied sternly, trying to hold back her tears and disappointment, "You made your point."

"Good," replied Devon as he began stuffing supplies in his backpack, "We're just two people who helped each other. I'm not your father, brother, or friend." He knelt down looking around with his arms at his waist suddenly changing his tone of voice, "Well, we did good, eh? Went four days without being seen or heard. Now's the tricky part, see? We got to jump on that fire escape without being seen or heard. Once we make it on that roof, it'll probably be easier."

She continued to hold her hand against her sore cheek; she saw Devon, the man she relied on in a new light. He was no longer her father, brother, or friend; he was just a stranger looking out for her. She got it now, though it was a cruel thing to do to Monica, such a young naive child desperately seeking a friend. He knew it was cruel to slap her repeatedly, but it was for her own good in the long run and he knew it. It was exactly what his general did to him when he was in Vietnam as he saw his "friends" get blown away or blown to pieces. He was in war again, though he tried hard to live a normal life as an accountant, and a father, war came knocking on his door once again, and his life was gone as was Monica's.

The sooner she realized it, the more comfortable he would feel if he died. The gray on his short hair was a scar, they were early gray hairs from Vietnam he'd developed and never lost, but he was really fit for a middle aged man. She couldn't help but look at him as he made conversation, holding her sore cheek. She was still naive, still optimistic and Devon knew it, he wanted to break her out of it, because it would get her killed. Sure, he loved her, he loved her balls, he loved her courage, she was a survivor, she was tough as nails and really good with a sniper rifle, but he would never tell her, because it only invited danger and weakness.

Monica was amazed at how long she'd survived. She hardly considered herself a survivor or a soldier, she was considered the prissiest girl in her neighborhood, always wearing pink, always wearing jewelry, always shopping, the girl down the street who you had a crush on, the one with beautiful long brown hair and rosy cheeks, and now here she was, dirty, dressed in clothes she took off of a dead woman, packed with supplies she and Devon raided from a camping store, packed with rifles they stole from a shopping center, being paired with someone she would have avoided in her normal life, now relying on him for comfort and safety. She was fighting for her life, fighting to stay alive, to fight to stay alive. Though the world had ended, she was back to monotonous routines and repetitive living.

"Can we do it?" asked Monica.

"Probably," he replied, "You're fit, and you can just jump it."

"Who's going to go first?" she asked.

"Me," he explained, "I'll go and then you toss the backpacks to me and we'll rush up the fire escape, okay? Let's go."

"You said two hours," she complained.

"I changed my mind," replied Devon "We can't be around here anymore. Get up."


	4. The Sound of Silence: Chapter Three

She groaned softly and threw her backpack over her shoulder staggering to the edge of the roof. Monica leaned against the edge and tip-toed looking down nervously.

"How far is it?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," he replied, "But we can make it." He stepped back slowly slipping off his backpack and hesitated for one moment, "Catch you on the flipside," he joked. Then with one flight of courage leapt from the ledge and dropped onto fire escape with a hard slam. He lay on the metal floor groaning softly attempting to gather his senses as she watched from afar.

"Are you okay?" she whispered looking back to see if they were heard.

"God, fuck, shit, hell!" he groaned slowly sitting up, "I seem fine."

He stood up against the edge of the fire escape and waved his hands to her. She tossed him his backpack dropping it into his arms. "Now yours," he whispered, "And hurry the fuck up before we're seen." She dropped her backpack onto him as he fell back groaning in exhaustion. She stood back and took a deep breath as Devon waited anxiously. She stepped back and stepped forward in hesitation. Finally she stepped back and rushed to the sill jumping as far as she could finally slamming against the edge of the fire escape nearly falling as Devon grabbed her arm. She let out a sharp yelp desperately grabbing onto the metal frame of the fire escape as he struggled to pull her up while muffling his grunts. He pulled her up onto the ground as she groaned in pain and relief.

"How you feeling?" asked Devon out of breath.

"I think I'm hurt," she replied attempting to stand up.

"Hurt or wounded?" asked Devon.

"Hurt," she replied.

"Good," he said, "Now let's get going."

He slipped on his backpack as she struggled to stand up and grabbed her pack. He tossed her rifle to her as he looped his rifle around his body holding his shotgun. He looked over to Monica and held his finger to his mouth signaling her to be quiet. There were four flights of stairs above, and many windows.

"How do we do this?" whispered Monica.

"I don't know," replied Devon looking up at the long stretch of steps, "We either sneak along the steps, or we run up them like the devils on our asses."

"Which is better?" asked Monica.

"Well," he said lowering his head planning, "I say run like hell and shoot the first fucker that tries to bite us."

"Fine by me," she replied leaning against the frame looking up at the tall steps.

"Let's do this now," he said sternly.

"Okay," she replied standing beside him.

"Keep it quiet, and don't stop running, you understand me?" asked Devon.

"I know, I know, don't give a shit."

"Right," replied Devon, "Go in front of me." She walked in front of him, both of their hands on the cold bars, looking up at what looked like miles and miles. All she and Devon wanted to do was get to safety, their faces were drenched with sweat and their bones ached from the drop.

With one last whisper, Devon declared, "Go." She began running up, her heavy labored breathing echoing through the alleyway as she and Devon rushed up the steps climbing the fire escape step by step. They ran past each window like shadows, mounting up the steps one after the other their heavy breathing louder than their footsteps as Devon came up behind her running and rushing. "Go, go, go," Devon ordered anxiously as a horrible banging could be heard below them, one of the corpses slamming against the window with a horrible groan. The sound quickly faded as they sped up the fire escape, window after window, after blood stained window, finally making it to the top as Monica climbed desperately up the ladder the led to the roof. She climbed over the large cliff and tumbled dropping onto the soft tar with a violent crash. Devon hurried behind her climbing the cliff and gazed over the horizon seeing nothing but nearly two miles of connecting roofs, gray and white floors, empty corners and walkways and pigeons coops in the distance. He dropped his bag onto the ground and dropped onto the floor landing on his knees.

"Shit," he said struggling to breathe as he knelt down. He coughed aloud spitting on the floor as Monica lay flat on her back breathing and panting loudly.

"Are you... okay?" he asked looking over at her.

"Jesus..." were all the words she could mutter amidst her heavy panting.

"You did good," he assured her unable to stand, "You did... damn good." She struggled to break free from the hold of her straps on her backpack and rolled off the large heap onto her back again, sitting up with a heavy breath. "Did you see anything?" she asked wiping her forehead of sweat.

"Nothing, no one," he replied in relief, "Just a pretty good range of roofs, all connecting. I think we've been discovered."

"What?" she asked wide-eyed.

"When I was running behind you, one of those shit heads tried to break through a window," he explained.

"They can't get up here," she declared.

"Yeah," he replied, "But we should move on, just in case."

"Can we rest?" she asked.

"No," he replied as she groaned, "We have to keep moving."

He staggered over to her grabbing her hand and lifting her up off the ground as she groaned in sheer exhaustion and put on her bandana soaking up her sweat.

"You can see the city," Devon said looking over the edge gazing out onto the horizon of the city. Much of it had already burnt to the ground, other skyscrapers were still smoking, and the massive center of the city was now dark and murky, more like death canyon. The power was shut off long ago, so the lights and street signs, though still up, were now just ruins. The streets were still filled with the walking dead who lumbered along the streets one by one.

"It's getting dark," replied Monica

"We have to keep going," declared Devon.

They walked slowly through the terrain of the roof, the tar ages old, and the roofs that looked somewhat like hills were vacated by pigeons. The walls covering the two were almost a godsend as they held their guns up gazing around, cautious despite the fact Devon knew they were alone.

"There's no one around," said Monica.

"Keep your eyes and ears open;" explained Devon, "You can never be too sure."

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I don't know." Neither of them were really sure what they were looking for, but all Devon knew was that he wanted to get off of that roof. For all they knew they would be walking into another dead end, but Monica never said anything, there was no use because Devon was determined to move on.

"Stop," Devon said stopping her as their eyes suddenly grew as white as pearls. They both crouched down their guns drawn as nothing but silence could be heard around them. The sound of silence was something to dread, for the sound of silence meant an oncoming threat, something they were afraid would loom over one of the cliffs.

"What?" whispered Monica.

"Load 'em," Devon said. They began loading their rifles, and quickly Devon dropped his rifle to the ground and grabbed his shotgun holding it up to his face as he cocked it hard and pointed it forward awaiting anything that came forward. Monica looked around, breathing rapidly in fright with wide-eyes holding her gun down. There was nothing. Silence. Devon lowered his gun and slowly stood up as he looked down at Monica who breathed a long heavy sigh of relief holding her gun down.

Devon hung his shotgun around his neck and picked up his rifle panting from relief as Monica slumped down, grateful that they weren't confronted.

"I told you to draw your guns," Devon said.

"My gun was drawn," she argued.

"No they weren't," replied Devon, "I saw you. You have to keep your gun drawn at all times, understand?"

"I got it," she replied standing up.

"I mean it," he insisted.

"I said I got it," she yelled as she stormed off angrily.

"What the hell is your problem, anyway?" asked Devon. She continued walking ahead, her gun up as he chased after her, "Talk."

"You're my problem, okay," she asked, "Nothing is ever good enough, is it? I can't do right, it's been like this since we met and I'm sick of it. I'm wet, I'm tired, I stink, I'm sick of running, and I'm sick of holding these stupid guns!" She slammed the rifle onto the ground angrily sighing in frustration, it was something she'd kept bottled up for all that time, "Worst of all, you wouldn't listen to me and now we're on a roof god knows where with no food, no water, and for all I know we could be walking into another dead end or right into a group of those shitheads."

"No one forced you to follow me," argued Devon.

"Oh, right," she scoffed facing him, "**_I-have-no-choice_**! I have no fucking choice! I can't survive if you're not here, okay! And you know that and you use it to get me to do what you want!"

"That's bullshit."

"That's not," she insisted, "You know it, don't fucking deny it. You know if I was on that roof alone I would have died of starvation or been caught! Why don't you face it that you're just as fucking clueless as I am."

"Watch your mouth," he replied.

"Fuck you," she replied walking off.

"Stop, right now," he ordered sternly, "Hey"

"Or what?" she laughed, "You're going to kill me?" She turned with a smirk approaching him, "Kill me then, go ahead," she stuck her hands out at her sides with a smirk, her rifle hanging from her wrist, "Go ahead, put me out of my fucking misery! You're not going to be doing anything I haven't thought of. Do me the favor." He stood silent for a moment and then drew his gun pointing at her face.

"See? You're not going to kill me," she said, "Because, whether you're willing to admit it or not, you need me just as much as I need you, maybe more."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Devon replied.

"Tell me," Monica replied, "If you don't give a fuck about anyone, why did you save me? Why didn't you leave me to get eaten by that store clerk back there, huh?"

"This is no time for arguing, right now, do you understand," he said slowly lowering his gun.

"You just answered my question," Monica replied with a smirk, "And there's no time to act like a big shot. Didn't you learn anything in Vietnam? Even I know it's the tough guys that get killed first."

"So what do you want to do?" he asked lowering his gun completely, "You want to go your own way."

"I can't," she replied, "Like I said: I need you just as much as you need me. Admitting it is not a bad thing." He looked into her eyes knowing she was intent on getting him to admit his weakness, but regardless he refused to own up to his weaknesses, especially to her even though they both knew it was true.

"We have to get going," he replied sternly.

"Fine," she replied turning to walk away.

"Keep your eyes open, your ears alert, and your boomstick drawn at all times," he instructed as she raised her gun. "How far did we go?" asked Monica. He tore off his winter cap and scratched his head looking back at the cliff they started from. There was no one else on the roof with them, but with all the corners and passages it was hard not to be paranoid.

"A good length," he replied, "but we have to press on. Now I don't know what's waiting for us over there, but we have to keep moving. Inevitably we'll stumble onto something."

"You think there's a chance we might meet someone?" she asked cocking her gun.

"If I had to put money on it, no," he explained, "We'll probably go for miles without seeing a single living soul."

"Look," she said with a glimpse of surprise. They'd stumbled onto a pigeon coop, a large silver cage stained with feathers and waste as the flock of birds flew around cooing loudly, it was a sound they were glad to hear, and the untouched pigeon coop was quite a sight. Monica slowly grazed her fingers along the cage watching the pigeons as she walked along the side of the cage watching the family of pigeons lay in the darkness. She was desperate to be them; no worries, no concerns, no danger awaiting them with open arms. She just went off into a far gaze watching them fly around.

"No one's been here in a while," said Devon looking at the cage.

"Doesn't look like it," replied Monica, "They look so-happy."

"They're not eating the animals," Devon declared confused, "I wonder why that is."

"That's good," she replied, "They're lucky, they don't have to worry about anything. They're happy."

"Monica, get down," he said softly.

"What?" she asked alarmed.

"Look," he said pointing in the distance. There was a shed, one of the sheds that led to a staircase down into a building. The darkness seemed alive as they stood still as stone, too afraid to move, too frightened to say anything, because they were all too aware of what was likely waiting for them within the stairs.

"We have to hide," she whispered in fright.

"Good idea," he replied wide-eyed, "You take cover, I'll check it out."

"We can run," she declared.

"We can't go back," he argued, "We have to see what's there."

"Hide, now," he ordered.

"But-"

"-Monica, no arguing this time," he ordered anxiously, "You hear screaming, you hear anything, you start shooting." She sighed and ran off to the small wall crouching down with her gun at a tight grasp. He took his rifle and tossed it to her feet nodding as she clenched her eyes shut, listening as Devon cocked his shotgun and slowly climbed over the ledge steadily making his way towards the entrance of the stairs. There was nothing but silence as he approached the darkness of the doorway. Suddenly, a loud thump could be heard from below and quickly he turned the corner hiding as he held his gun up. The thumping became louder this time, so loud Monica could hear it. Only their heart beats were audible as the thumping slowly made its way up the steps. It was coming out of the doorway, he knew it, and was prepared to go down.


	5. The Sound of Silence: Chapter Four

The distant echoes of the thumping stopped as a figure emerged from the doorway. Devon peeked his head from the corner watching a figure stagger from the door and emerged cocking his gun and pointing. It was a young man with brown hair and glasses; he turned in fright yelping in horror as Devon stood pointing his gun. He dropped a bowl of water onto the ground raising his hands staggering back as Devon grabbed him by the collar pushing him the ground.

"Talk!" Devon demanded.

"Please man," he said with a quivery voice, "I don't want no trouble."

"Who are you!" he demanded again.

"M-My name is Terry, okay," he replied crawling backwards, "I don't want any trouble, I just came to feed pigeons, okay."

"How many are you?" he asked with a fierce growl.

"Uh-uh-" he struggled for words peeking down the barrel of his shotgun and crept back, "I just want to feed my birds."

"How many survivors are there?" he asked cocking his gun.

"Uh-uh-four others," he explained raising his hands, "We-we they're down there, okay? I can't spare anything."

"Any of those things with you?" he asked looking down the stairwell.

"No, man," he said frightened, "Please. We-we locked them out, we-we got rid of the bodies, and-and we killed off the others, alright? There's only a few of us. Can you please put the gun down, now?" Devon sighed and lowered his gun as he looked back still attempting to gather himself.

"We have the top floor," he explained nervously, "We closed down the elevator and we barricaded the fire exit. C-Can I get up, now?"

"Fine," Devon said grabbing him by the wrist helping him up. He began brushing himself off sighing in relief as Devon held his shotgun still cautious.

"It's okay," the young man assured him, "We have the whole floor to ourselves, we're safe for now."

"None of us are," replied Devon.

"Devon?" Monica called nervously.

"It's okay, Monica," Devon said looking over the ledge, "you can come out."

"How many of you are there?" he asked.

"Only me and her?" Devon explained as Monica climbed over the ledge holding their rifles.

"How did you get here?" he asked in surprise, "None of those things been able to climb up here, thank god."

"Sorry for the gun thing," explained Devon.

"It's cool," he assured him as Monica approached, "You scared the shit out of me, though, I gotta admit."

"Hi," he said shaking her hand, "I'm Terry."

"Monica," she replied forcing a smile as they shook hands, "He's Devon."

"Devon," Terry said with a smile, "It's nice to meet you. How did you get up here?"

"We've been traveling for a week now," explained Monica, "We jumped from the store to the fire escape and made our way up."

"Wow," exclaimed Terry, "You must be mutants or something. Are you guys?"

"No," replied Devon, "We're not related."

"We have four others down there," explained Terry, "A few of our neighbors and my girlfriend."

"Do you have any other of those things down there?" asked Monica.

"No," Terry assured her, "We've been here since it all started, we miraculously managed to lock off the floor from them and we finished off some of the remaining infected. We've been held up here ever since."

"We're glad those things didn't jump out," Monica sighed.

"We don't want any trouble, okay?" Terry said.

"Why do you say that?" asked Devon.

"Three gang members came around here the other day and tried to force their way in from one of the fire escapes. We had to fight them off."

"What happened to them?" asked Monica.

"They ran off," he replied, "We boarded up the fire escapes and everything. When they shut down the power and water, luckily ours kept running because this fucking building is so damn old."

"We've just been living on "Pop Tarts" and water for months," said Monica, "We camped out on the roof of the pharmacy down the block for four days."

"And went without being seen?" asked Terry in surprise, "Wow."

"He was in Vietnam," Monica replied.

"Oh," he said looking Devon over, "Y-You don't talk much, do you?"

"Look, let's cut the bullshit, how do we know you're not just fucking with us?" asked Devon.

"Devon!" Monica gasped.

"What do you mean?" asked Terry.

"How do we know you and a group of your buddies ain't trying to lure us down there and take our shit?" asked Devon.

"Look, you don't have to trust me, okay? We're just desperate for new faces, you know? I mean, you're welcome to come down here with us," explained Terry, "We have hot food and water and beds. We gathered all the food from the apartments and luckily there's plenty. By god's graces, one of the survivors Jose took a risk and raided the grocery store down here. He just about barely made it out alive." He turned with his arms crossed and stood at the doorway, "You going to come with me?" asked Terry as they stood still reluctant to follow, "If you want to, you can follow, but if you decide to keep going, there's four roofs of walking room down there, but there's basically a dead end with a ladder that leads to the city square. You have to run across, and even then there's not a fire escape for ten yards." He walked off as Devon and Monica stood still contemplating.

"What do you think?" asked Monica.

"I don't know," Devon said holding his shotgun, "How do we know we can trust him?"

"We don't," replied Monica, "But what choice do we have? I say we go."

"Fine," replied Devon, still suspicious.

"We're still shaken up by those SWAT officers the other day," Monica complained.

"Yeah, we saw it all from the window," explained Terry, "It was like the fucking "Wild Bunch" over there. My girlfriend could barely keep herself together when they were getting killed, but it's become normal around the city these days."

"They were the first sign of life to come around in days," Monica sulked.

"Most likely the last," replied Devon.

"There was a tank that drove by the street last week," explained Terry, "But since then there's been basically nothing."

"Terry? Is everything okay?" a voice called from below.

"Oh god," he said realizing how long he was gone, "Everything's fine, uh-I found two survivors up here."

They descended hesitantly down the stairs behind Terry who looked back watching them point their guns cautiously. "It's okay," he explained, "The roof is safe, so are the stairs and floor below here, but the bottom four floors are where you step into some of those freaks. They are swarming with them." They lowered their guns and followed him as he led them through some steps past a small door in the wall, "Don't worry about this door," Terry said tapping it, "It's a closet." They walked down to the top floor, where the very small group of survivors had taken shelter. Terry stepped into the floor as did Devon and Monica causing the group to gasp and flinch back in fright.

"It's okay," Terry assured them, "They're just survivors."

"Who are they?" asked a young woman.

"This is Devon and Monica," explained Terry, "I found them on the roof."

"How long were you up there?" asked an older man.

"A day," replied Monica, "We're not here to hurt you."

"Get the fuck out of here!" ordered an African American man, "Now!"

"Back off, Luis," Terry replied annoyed.

"We're not going to take anything from you," explained Devon, "We just would appreciate if you helped us."

"What are we, the "Red Cross"?" asked Luis, "We're in knee-deep shit like you! We're stuck in this fucking place just like you are."

"Please... you can't send us out there, again," Monica said.

"We _have_ to help them, Lou," explained a young woman.

"Why the guns, then?" asked Luis as he observed their rifles and shotgun nervously.

"Gee, why the guns, guys?" Terry asked sarcastically looking at the two, "What do you think, Luis?"

"How the hell did you get up here?" asked the young woman, "I thought you said nothing could get up here, Terry."

"Relax would you, Dana?" Terry replied.

"We jumped from another building," explained Devon, "And we just ran up the fire escape."

"You ran?" asked Dana in surprise.

"You guys are nuts," replied Luis, "The last person that tried to do that was pulled in and killed."

"Really?" asked Monica.

"Yep," replied Luis, "When all this shit happened, there were people crowding the fire escape thinking they'd escape those things and make it to the roof, didn't even bother to close their windows and they were being pulled in or falling over."

"We didn't see any bodies in the alley," explained Devon.

"Of course not," replied Dana, "Get a group of those things on one of us and they devour you in an hour."

"This is my girlfriend Dana, that's our neighbor Luis, and Jose" explained Terry. They were a small band of survivors, all opposite from one another. Luis was the defensive old African man who sported a thick white mustache and an observed but judgmental face, almost as if he was analyzing everything, but could you blame him? It was survival of the fittest and he wasn't ready to take on new people who were potential threats to the harmony of the group. Jose was an older teenager, dressed in blue jeans and long shirt, light brown skin and thin mustache, tattoos down his arms, but not threatening despite the fact it was obvious he was the most threatening, Terry seemed to know what he was doing the most, glasses and short brown hair, a slim tall physique and baggy clothing as he stood beside his girlfriend Dana, a young woman with brown short hair, blue eyes, and an often nervous expression on her face gazing at their new discoveries. Though her shattered nerves seemed evidently transparent by the dirt and blood underneath her fingernails.

"Only five of you," Devon observed.

"Out of fifty people on the floor," explained Luis, "Only five are here."

"You're the first people we've seen in a week," explained Jose, "We had some gang members try to break in through one of the fire escapes yesterday."

"What happened?" asked Monica.

"Tried to take Emily and Dana," he explained, "And we just chased them out."

"We can't completely hate them, can't completely hate anything these days, you know?" Terry explained, "We just mostly pity them."

"They were criminals," Luis declared.

"They were desperate, too, Lou," Terry argued, "When people get desperate the get violent."

"We had a young couple here last week," explained Dana as she stood beside Terry, "They were nice people."

"Where did they go?" asked Monica.

"They went looking for their daughter," she explained, "We begged them not to leave, but they went anyway, and they never came back."

"You can take their room," explained Terry.

"You're going to let them stay here?" asked Luis.

"Yes, I am, Luis," Terry argued, "Is there a problem with that?"

"It's not right to send them to die, Luis," Jose explained, "They look like nice enough people."

"They're going to bring us trouble," warned Luis, "I know it."

"Fine," replied Dana, "Then you can leave if you're not comfortable, go ahead."

"Come Luis," Jose insisted walking off with a sigh.

"She's just a little girl," Dana replied.

"Listen," explained Devon, "We're not going to give you trouble, okay? We've spent nearly a year running and hiding, running and hiding, camping out on roofs, ducking in alleys, nearly getting killed more times than I can count, if you think we're going back out there, then you have another thing coming. I'm tired, she's tired, and I'm not moving. So one way or another you're going to have to learn to tolerate me, if you can't then you can go fuck yourself!"

"Let it go, man," Terry said holding him back, "He's just wired, we all are. You know what its like to be in this place for months on end, listening to those monsters outside? Come on, I'll show you where you'll be staying."

"Wait, you can't give them that room," explained Dana, "What do we do if they come back?"

"Run," Monica replied.

"How's this?" asked Terry as he opened the door to a small bed room with beds side by side, the walls were stained and cracked, and the windows covered with curtains and sheets. It didn't have any route of entrance for the infected, but who would have wanted to look out onto the scenery? Monica staggered into the room and dropped onto the bed groaning aloud in exhaustion. Finally a soft bed that they hadn't seen in months, but it felt more like years. She nearly was drawn to tears at the plush mattress that she wished she'd never get up from. Devon dropped his bag on the floor and took off his jacket as he sat beside her.

"What do you think?" asked Terry.

"It'll do," shrugged Devon, "I'm not choosey."

"Good," replied Terry, "I'm sorry about Luis, he's just jumpy and edgy, you know."

"I understand," replied Monica leaning back, "I wouldn't be too trusting of new people, either."

"It's been hell on Earth, hasn't it?" asked Terry.

"That's _**exactly**_ what it is," replied Devon, "Somewhere, the gates of hell opened up, and we're paying for it."

"You really think that's what caused all of this?" asked Terry.

"What do **_you_** think caused it?" asked Monica.

"Maybe there was a chemical leak at a factory somewhere, a chemical they weren't really aware of," explained Terry, "It has happened before, maybe."

"None of the rooms have doors," Monica observed.

"Except the bathrooms. When all of this happened we used all the doors to block the fire exits," he explained sadly, "They were coming fast."

"You guys hungry?" asked Dana as she walked into the room with two bowls of soup.

"Oh! Please," Monica said jumping from the bed, grabbing the bowl, "We've been living on pop tarts for nearly a year now." She hungrily began sipping the soup as Devon laid his shotgun on his lap.

"Thank goodness, when the power plants were shut off by the government, our gas and water kept going," explained Dana with a nervous smile, "This building is so old, I guess it never shut off our power. Are you hungry?"

"No, thanks," replied Devon.

"You can put down the gun," explained Terry, "It's okay."

"No, thanks," replied Devon, "I have to keep this with me; we're going to need it sooner or later."

"I'm still confused as to why they would shut down the power plants in the first place," explained Dana, "Didn't they figure there'd be some people still alive?"

"I think they just gave up," replied Devon, "No one knew what the fuck was going on and they abandoned ship like rats."

"We put it here after we cleared the floor," explained Terry standing by the elevator, "It's all we could do to make sure none of them got here." They stood in front of an elevator, a large desk was jammed into the elevator blocking the doors from closing thus preventing it to work, it was a desperate attempt at best, but it was all they could do.

"Why not just shut down the elevator?" asked Devon.

"We don't know how," replied Terry, "And you would have to go down to the basement to do so, and there is no way I'm going down there."

"Here is the fire exit," Terry said as he and Devon stood in front of the red door at the end of the hall, "Thank god it's away from the apartments."

"I can hear them," Devon declared nervously as repetitive banging persisted outside the door. Groups of the dead stood outside listening to them talk and continued banging loudly, the denizens of the building attempting to get in, but they were blocked. The entire door was covered by wooden boards and the furniture they could spare. From what Devon gathered it was less than secure, but sturdy.

"Is that-safe?" asked Monica looking from the corner in anxiousness.

"It's not pretty," replied Terry, "But it's kept those fuckers out since we built it."

"We're basically safe in here," asked Dana.

"I wouldn't bet on it," Devon warned, "Things happen, and those fuckers will eventually find a way into this place."

"Why not just appreciate that you're in a safe place with food, and shelter?" Terry complained.

"And what happens when that food runs out?" asked Devon, "Did you think about that"

"That's not going to happen," replied Terry.

"Listen, if you ask me, you're all living in a dream world," explained Devon, "We're **_stuck_** here; we're not **_ choosing_** to be here. This is a prison you've built, and eventually, these walls are going to get smaller."

"Then what do you think we should do," Terry argued, "We're not all survivors like you and the only reason why I haven't forced Dana to leave here because she's too frightened to step out there. She won't even go on the roof."

"I can't blame her," replied Monica, "Hearing them frightens me, _**not**_ hearing them frightens me, _**watching**_ them frightens me. But Devon is right. What if the food runs out? Then we have to leave this place."

"For now we stay here, okay?" asked Terry.

"How do you sleep with all that banging?" asked Monica.

"Ignore it," replied Terry, "It's all we can do. I mean, we can't put on a radio or television. All of the stations are still on the emergency broadcast and electricity is down." That night, they all gathered into the apartment at the end of the hallway, almost clinging onto their old ways as they lit candles in the dim lighting and gathered to eat at the large dinner table Terry had scrounged from one of the neighbor's apartments.

"What do you think?" asked Terry sitting beside Dana.

"It's great," Dana replied.

"We have grilled cheese here," Jose explained, "And plenty of it."

"No steak?" joked Devon.

"It will be stored over night from Europe," replied Jose. They ate silently for many reasons, all staring at each other, only the distant banging and the clinking of their plates echoing in the calm. They ate silently bunched together, Devon and Monica were still very nervous and on edge from their exploits, Dana, Terry, and the others were still weary of their new roommates, all didn't trust one another, it was a wonder how they survived so long.


	6. The Sound of Silence: Chapter Five

"What do you think of your room?" asked Dana.

"It'll do," replied Monica, "It has a bed, that's all that matters to me."

"Do you always carry the shotgun with you?" asked Jose.

"Force of habit," replied Devon, "But I feel safer with it."

"God," Monica said looking back as they could hear the distant banging at the fire door, "How do you stand that?"

"I'm surprised you find that so irritating, I figured you'd be used to it," explained Jose, "You were right on the field with those things for months."

"I didn't get used to it," replied Monica, "how the hell could anyone stand that?"

"What was it like out there?" asked Dana, "Being only three feet away from those things."

"Rough," replied Devon, "It was like something out of my nightmares. There were times where we'd have to hide in a fire escape in plain view and not move an inch for hours; you get to see how tough you really are in situations like that. We had to watch a seven year old get torn apart by her parents who obviously were hiding and turning."

"I'm not sure what was rougher," explained Monica, "those things being a few feet away from me, or surviving."

"Well, you seemed to have been in good hands," Dana said to Monica.

"It was tough trusting someone I barely knew," replied Monica.

"Where'd you guys meet?" asked Jose.

"Twenty-five miles from here," explained Devon, "We were in town, and I was hiding out in the sewers, waiting for my chance to escape, and I ended up in a store. I crawled up some ladder, and lifted the lid to take a peek around and for about fifteen minutes I just saw those things and I finally saw her, hiding under a store counter shivering. So I lifted it and signaled her to me and she crawled down and we just stood in the sewers for the rest of the afternoon. I nearly blew her head off because she was so frightened she barely said anything. I just figured she was bitten or something."

"I heard the small towns and suburbs were hit the hardest," explained Jose.

"They would be," replied Louis, "They're the smallest. No place to hide."

"At least in the city you can move around," explained Dana, "There's places to hide, places to run and walk through"

"There's nowhere," argued Devon, "Trust me. When it happened you could see flames along the horizon above the skyscrapers for days, there was thick black smoke from buildings, the stench of death and rotten flesh creeping up your nose. It's a smell I've only experienced in war, and even then it wasn't as bad."

"This city has a population of at least a billion," explained Jose, "Out of all of them, I think only about five-thousand might have made it."

"That's ridiculous," argued Monica.

"No, it can't be that high," replied Devon.

"How do you know that?" asked Dana.

"Because we were out there for months," explained Monica, "There's no one out there. No one at all."

"Maybe they're in hiding," Terry deduced, "Sewers, basements, attics, vents."

"No one in their right mind hides in a basement with those things out there," explained Devon, "A basement is a relative deathtrap."

"Then how much people you think survived this?" asked Terry.

"I don't know," argued Monica, "But I'm guessing not a whole lot."

"There must be someone out there," Dana insisted, "We can't be the only people alive—"

"There's no oneokay!" replied Monica, "We were out there. We walked the roofs, through the sewers, we hid in stuffy vents, attics, fire escapes, you think with all of that at least someone would have seen us or called us to them. Face it, we're probably the only people on this city who are left."

"If we found you, we'll find others," replied Dana.

"Why don't you guys just admit what's happened?" asked Louis, "All you people are worrying about is finding survivors, I think what we should be finding a better way to survive."

"We're safe, Louis," replied Terry, "What we need are people."

"No, people we have, what we need are supplies," argued Devon, "and what we need is a way to get them."

"They've slowed down," replied Jose.

"What?" asked Devon and Monica.

"Those things," Jose explained, "They slowed down. They're still pretty fast, but now they're just **_walking_** fast."

"They're rotting," Terry declared, "rigomortis has probably set in as well."

"That's good for us," replied Devon, "We have a whole city out there, we have to find supplies, food...,"

"—Good idea," Dana replied.

"and a new place," replied Devon.

"What?" asked Terry.

"What's wrong here?" asked Dana.

"We need to find somewhere high," replied Devon.

"Another roof?" Louis asked sarcastically.

"No, grandpa," Devon replied, "an attic. We need a place where we can move in and out through the roof and still be able to hide."

"Now that those things are slow," Louis explained, "We can walk around."

"Don't put on your clothes yet," replied Terry, "Those things may be slow, but they can sneak up on you and gang up on you without you noticing."

"They travel in groups," replied Monica, "You rarely ever find one of them traveling alone."

"Also, one of them hears us, and more follow," replied Jose, "It's like a chain reaction or something. They have great senses from what I've experienced."

"How the fuck do you know all of this?" asked Devon.

"I study," Jose replied, "We have to if we're ever going to survive."

"I studied them, too," explained Devon, "I learned what they are."

"What?" asked Dana.

"Us."

"Us?" asked Dana.

"Exactly," replied Devon, "We're fightingeach other. They're us but dead, and they still have the urge to eat, destroy, consume. This infection is unbiased."

"It's a plague," replied Terry.

"It's a curse," Louis argued, "We're damned... the entire human race is damned. It's like a curse, you know? We die and we get up to walk around again... we attack each other... we eat each other... and there's nothing we can do about it."

"How long is it going to be until this is over and we can lead normal lives again?" Dana asked.

"How about never?" Monica replied sarcastically.

"Well, they're sick," Dana argued.

"They're dead!" Louis declared, "Not sick. Sick people don't eat human flesh."

"You're asking the wrong questions, Dana," explained Devon, "The question is: is this a life really worth living? Is it worth going through all of this just live a meaningless life of survival?" It was a question they were already asking themselves, though no one bothered to say it out loud, because deep down inside, they were wondering if it was all really worth it. What was the point of it all? Regardless, they were still being held prisoner.

They'd all managed to gather their bearings and sat along a round table reminiscing, and in a sense planning, though Dana was still tense about it all. She didn't even want to explore what they would do if the creatures did break in.

"When the military declared martial law, all bets were off," explained Jose, "You couldn't walk the streets, you couldn't go into stores, and you couldn't even leave your apartment. But no one could anyway, because everyone was being attacked."

"They even closed down the docks," replied Terry, "The bastards. Everyone stormed the docks anyway and started going off in boats and yachts. None of those things could swim, so the water was naturally a safe place."

"I wish we could have had a boat to go to," replied Jose, "Besides, nearly everybody that tried to go to the docks were shot down or attacked."

"It took about a week to find out about the outbreak," explained Devon, "Then withinwhat? A week, it was here."

"I remember it was slow," explained Terry, "first the alleys, the ghettos, the projects, and then slowly it was spreading farther… wider, and then it was coming in through our apartments and streets were filled with them. At one point they had to stop traffic because they were crossing the bridge into here. They were pulling people out of their cars, for fuck sake."

"Has this happened anywhere else?" asked Devon.

"I don't know," replied Jose, "I haven't heard anything about England. But since they're across the water, it's possible one of those boats brought someone with them that was infected. It only takes one bite and it's over. It's so slow but so fast, too, you know? Within the first two weeks it was all over the country side and farms, no one there was safe, within two more weeks, it was in the city, and it only took one week for it to spread everywhere." Dana stood up and stormed off as they looked over at her, "She hates to hear us talk about it," replied Terry, "so try to talk lower."

"I remember when this first started," joked Devon, "They were saying "Lock your doors, and close your windows", then those things would knock down the doors and break through the windows, and then what?"

"They just abandoned us," Jose complained, "They packed up their shit, imprisoned us in our homes and left us to die. God bless, America."

"No, what they did was abandon the poor," Devon argued, "They left the sick, the homeless, the poor, the people in ghettos and they escorted the elite with armed guards and air rescue."

"How could that do that?" asked Louis.

"Why spend all your money protecting poor people when you can protect rich people?" Devon explained, "The irony is money doesn't mean a thing anymore."

"What do you expect?" asked Terry, "They were clueless. Everyone was. When this started they didn't know what the fuck happened or how it started, then by the time they decided to find out what was causing it, it was already too late."

"Bullshit," Devon replied with a smirk.

"What are you talking about?" asked Jose getting annoyed by his contradictions.

"They knew what was going on, did you see their perfectly coordinated plans?" he asked, "block the docks, block the roadways, escort the rich out of town."

"So is there nowhere to go for safety?" asked Monica entering the room, "Nowhere where there is live people?"

"I don't know," replied Terry, "Maybe, but if all of this happened here, there's a good chance it's happened across the ocean in England."

"There must be somewhere," complained Jose, "Somewhere we can go."

"Why don't we just face that the world is over?" asked Devon, "The damage is done already. There's no one in this city that's alive, and the ones that are walking the streets want to eat us, civilization is over, everyone we love is dead, so what else is there?"

"This isn't a life," argued Monica, "Trying to stay alive, being locked in an apartment."

"What do you want?" asked Devon, "If you want to die, then there's a bullet in these guns, that's the best solution. What's the point of trying stay alive another day if you got to face those things out there?"

"I'm not sure," replied Jose, "But sometimes the will to live kicks in, and we want to stay alive longer, it's hard to explain. Sometimes it can't be that simple. Shoot yourself? We have to fight to stay alive. There must be a way to stop this."

"Easy," replied Devon, "Put a bullet to their fucking heads. But as far as rebuilding civilization goes, I'd say that boat has sailed, alright? And I think it's about time we fucking realized that."

"Calm down, Devon," replied Terry.

"Hey, fuck you man," said Devon, "Who did you lose when this happened?"

"I didn't lose anyone," argued Terry, "But who's to say I didn't lose at least something? My life was affected just like everyone else's."

"Yeah?" asked Devon, "How would you feel spending nearly five years fighting for your life in Vietnam at the verge of getting killed at any moment, and finally when you rebuild your life, you have to go back into the war?"

"I'm sorry this happened," replied Terry, "But there's no need complaining about it, now at this point."

"I lost my wife and my baby daughterokay?" asked Devon, "I think complaining is the right thing to do at this moment."

"Your daughter?" asked Jose.

"Yeah," Devon replied with a heavy sigh leaning back.

"What happened?" asked Terry.

"She died," replied Devon.

"You had a daughter?" asked Monica.

"Used to," replied Devon.

"How'd she die?" asked Terry. It was something he'd kept from Monica since they partnered to survive, something he didn't want to reveal lest he be deemed weak, or worse, be so emotionally struck by it he couldn't focus when hiding.

"If you're here," explained Terry, "You'd have to have someone die and had to have killed someone. It's almost like a rule these days."

"I killed my cousin," replied Jose taking the first move in their reminiscence, "She was bitten on her shoulder. Not just bitten but she just had her whole shoulder torn out; it was huge. We locked ourselves in my bathroom and she lay on the floor complaining she was tired. I remember her crying to me about how much it hurt, and I couldn't do anything for her. We just listened outside as people ran around screaming, and then...she turned. I remember watching her stare off into space... going into shock first, and then she died. She was...so pale, and I turned my back for a second to listen by the door and I heard her moan... then I turned calling to her. I cried because I was sure she was alive. I thought it was a miracle from god or something. I remember seeing her face... it was not her, but I wanted it to be, you know?"

"For a second it was like she knew who I was...her eyes kind of squinted like she knew me, and then she growled and jumped at me. At first, it was like shocking, you know? I was screaming out her name and holding her back as she just kept snapping at me. And I shoved her on the floor and she fell smacking her head really hard on the toilet. She just stood up like nothing happened, that was when I realized she'd turned. I killed my own cousin," he said still in disbelief, "We used to sleep in the same bed, talk for hours, she was like the sister I wish I had... and I bashed her head in with the lid on the toilet. And I just kept smashing it on her head, and her blood just splattered on my face... took me a few minutes to come back to what had happened and I realized my entire family was gone."


	7. The Sound of Silence: Chapter Six

"I came home," explained Devon, "I still remember it all. It's not something you forget. I remember it was a hard day. First there was just non-stop traffic. I remember hearing about the outbreak in the city that day and I, I left work really fast without telling my boss and I was just desperate to get home. I remember slowly etching my way along the bridge in my car listening to the reporters over the radio screaming about those things crossing the bridges, and I looked down and I could see them walking in groups on the bridge under me. I remember seeing the police fighting them off, and losing, and I remember people screaming. And I just kind of steamrolled my way past the cars and rushed home... but… by the time I got there it was already too late. I was being chased like crazy by them but somehow I made it home, and my apartment door was open... and I walked in calling out to her... I was so scared and...I could hear people screaming outside my window, but all that mattered was them...and I walked in..."

He gaze down with tears in his eyes remembering, "And I walked into my daughter Amy's room... and there it was...!" He whimpered softly, tears going down his eyes, "There they were," he continued, "It looks like she didn't even get out of her bed. My wife was hunched over her... my daughter's eyes were wide, like if she was frightened, or shocked...and my wife looked up at me growling, her mouth just covered in blood... she was eating her. Looks like she was eating her stomach or something...I just shot her...and then my daughter. And I ran." There emerged a silence between the small group as Devon grunted softly trying to contain himself and his emotions wiping his eyes.

Later on the silence had thickened even worse now, and no one was talking. You could cut a knife through the silence that emerged in the room with only their usual bodily noises and coughs being heard echoing and, of course, the banging on the doors in the distance. Finally someone spoke up after an hour, "Ugh," Jose said placing his fingers on their plates, "The grilled cheese got cold."

"Eat it, anyway," Terry suggested.

"It's called grilled cheese for a reason," explained Jose, "Eating it cold would just be eating a cheese sandwich."

"Then don't eat it," replied Terry frustrated.

"Why is that window boarded up?" asked Monica, "There's no fire escape."

"You have to keep invisible from them," explained Terry.

"My idea," replied Jose, "Everything helps."

That night after all had settled down Jose and Devon stood by the window that looked out onto the city square and they peaked out onto groups of the dead through binoculars. They were still commuting along the streets, still walking around, bumping into one another, walking down into alleyways rummaging through garbage as the dogs walked around growling at them, some even whimpering and running away at their horrific sight, but they were basically harmless to the animals since they never ate them, but somehow the animals knew, the animals knew they weren't humans, and they didn't go near them,

"Hmm," Devon muttered.

"See? Didn't I tell you?" asked Jose, "They're getting slower now. They're starting to walk. Before they ran like a bitch, and now it's just sluggish."

"They're rotting," replied Devon.

"Exactly," replied Jose, "It will make it easier to walk around more."

"No it won't," replied Devon, "Regardless we're still outnumbered ten-thousand to one, and walking or running don't make them any less dangerous."

"But we can sneak around," explained Jose, "We can go and get supplies, and get medicine, bandages."

"It's a possibility," replied Devon thinking.

"Fuck yeah it's a possibility," explained Jose enthusiastically, "One person goes down and sneaks around, or we can get a car and drive around snatching food, or we have two people go down, one drives a car and watches, while the other grabs what they can."

"It's very dangerous," warned Devon.

"Of course," explained Jose, "But what happens when the food runs out?"

"We move," explained Devon.

"We stock up," argued Jose, "I made my way by myself down into the bodega downstairs. I fought them off and snuck food up. If we're really quiet who knows what can happen."

"But it's a risk," argued Devon.

"It's a risk we have to take," Jose urged, "Besides, Louis needs heart medication, Dana gets migraines, who knows what we'll find that can help us. We have to stay one step ahead of these fuckers. **_Two_** steps, even." He grabbed the binoculars and looked out onto the streets.

Terry sat by his bed with his head back on his mattress holding a record to his chest as his mom's old phonograph played low in the corner. Monica walked in watching Dana with her back turned on their bed asleep as he looked back.

"What are you doing?" asked Monica.

"Listening to records," he replied.

"What record?" she asked.

"Some old "Rolling Stones" record of my dads," he explained, "Never really cared much for this type of music, but it's just relaxing, you know?"

"Did they die during the outbreak?" asked Monica as she sat on the floor.

"Nah," he replied, "Thank god, though. I would have been in misery knowing they'd been eaten or turned. No, my dad died four years ago from a bad heart attack, and my mom died ten years ago from diabetes. It was just me and Dana for a few years there." She sat on the bed watching the record spin almost fondly as Terry sighed from the soft music of the appropriate song: "Miss you".

"I can still remember the things I miss," she explained.

"I know what you mean," replied Terry.

"I miss the simple things," she explained, "Fatty fast food, my bedroom, my dog, staying up late to watch TV"

"surfing the net, lattes," he continued, "Yeah, it was just great."

"Before I used to wake up dreading school," she declared, "But now I wonder if I'll live to see tomorrow, then I ask "Will there even be a_ next year?_""

"It's not a certainty anymore," replied Terry, "I've managed to come to grips with it. I just hope when it happens I die quickly, or if it's by them, that they kill me quickly, you know? There's nothing I'd hate more than turning into one of those things."

"My mom used to have me pray every night," explained Monica, "have me thank god for the things I had. It's about now I wish I'd done more praying and less complaining."

"Ah," Terry declared dismissing her comment, "We're on our own. But you just have to be thankful for the little things. I'm glad Dana survived. She's the only real thing that has kept me sane throughout this ordeal. It's not often you fall in love with a girl your mom set you up with."

"She set you up with her?" laughed Monica.

"Yeah," Terry replied with a somber smile, "We hit it off quick, you know? My mom always liked her."

"Your mom was trying to get you laid, mine was keeping me from boys," joked Monica.

"She was so loving and sweet," Terry explained, "I thank god she died before any of this shit happened. She named me Terry after her favorite character in "On the Waterfront". She always did shit like that. She used to name all of her pets after her favorite movie characters."

"You guys are married?" asked Monica.

"Yep," Terry nodded, "We were trying for a kid. I just don't see the point now... if raising a kid in this environment isn't abuse I don't know what is."

"I was really close to graduating high school," explained Monica, "I was even shopping for my prom dress the week before."

"We all had our lives interrupted, but the thing is Devon was wrong. We did have a lot of warning and anticipation, it was all a years worth of it, it's just no one listened, no one cared. We were two busy going about our business and leaving it up to the government to do something about it or take caution," he explained, "No one bothered. No one knows what this is, and that drives me crazy."

"I think we should all come to our own conclusions," explained Monica, "It's easier for us to know what happened rather than walk around with our heads up our asses."

"Louis' scream was the first I heard that day," explained Dana as she sat up much to their surprise, "I remember it like it was yesterday."

"Louis was the first?" asked Monica.

"His apartment was closest and they burst through the doors by groups," explained Dana, "They attacked his wife, Edna, she was seventy, and they went after him. He told me he hid under his bed they found him because he could barely keep his sobbing quiet."

"Then like a domino effect," Terry continued, "The screams started. One by one it got closer as the neighbors' doors crashed down on them."

"I can't get it out of my head," replied Dana, "I—I can't."

"What have you been learning?" asked Devon as he and Jose sat by the window looking through their binoculars.

"Learning?" asked Jose.

"About them," replied Devon, "Anything you've picked up?"

"Lots," replied Jose, "My dad taught me to study, to learn and I just kind of picked up their habits."

"Like?"

"Well—from what I've seen these months, they travel in packs, only eat warm fresh meat, and they never each other, for some odd reason they never eat animals, probably hate the taste," he explained, "And the smell of them is just unbearable. Ever been face to face with one?"

"Oh yeah," Devon replied with a disgusted groan, "Too many times."

"It's ungodly," Jose replied, "It's probably the worst stench I've ever smelled."

"What were you in a past life?" asked Devon.

"Past life," Jose declared in amusement, "A high school drop out working at the grocery store downstairs. I wasn't anything special, nothing worth saving. Matter of fact I'm still trying to figure out how the fuck I made it out of this alive, you know?"

He chuckled and looked through the binoculars, "I was told all my life by my family and in the bible that when judgment day came all the good and worthy would be spared, and the wicked would go to hell. The problem is I'm still trying to figure out if we're the wicked in hell, or if judgment day is still going on. Which ever it is I just want it to end, already. I was the oldest of three kids, so I knew what it was like to fight to live already—but no one said we'd be going through this to survive. What were you?"

"An accountant for a small insurance claims house in the Southside," explained Devon.

"That sounds boring," Jose joked.

"It was," Devon replied, "So boring I used to press the coffee pot against my skin to keep me awake... but, man, I'd give anything to get it back."

"They travel around different places," explained Jose, "but I noticed it's only in places that had meaning to them. They walk the streets because it's what they did, they're still in their apartments because of impulse...like us, and one thing is for sure, from what I saw in the news, the hospitals were becoming buffets for them. All of those people in their beds strapped up and shit."

"We can move around a little bit," Devon said looking through the binoculars, "We're right in the middle of a shopping center. There's a market, a grocery store, a pharmacy."

"It's still a possibility," Jose replied, "But my sensible side kind of takes control of me. I mean, I know they're moving slow, but I don't think I'd have the balls to go out there by myself."

"None of us would," explained Devon, "But I'm already getting sick of this place, and the arguments you were making changed my mind."

"Look at that," Jose declared stunned, they both looked across the street as a young girl crawled along the street with her doll, clawing at the concrete as the walking dead loomed beside her. Her legs were chewed away, her arms bitten down to the elbows as she groaned softly crawling across the floor, "I'm losing my mind, man," Jose complaining bowing his head, "I wish there was somewhere I didn't have to look at them, or hear them. We could head for the harbor," explained Jose trying to strategize, "Try to take a yacht, or a boat, head to England... see if there's anyone there who has felt the outbreak effects."

"It's more likely hopeless than anything," replied Devon.

"But there's a chance," Jose insisted, "There's always a chance."

"Wait…!" Devon said holding up the binoculars with wide eyes, "Is that a jet!" There was a sudden roar in the sky that arose from the distance and was getting louder by the minute, but Jose didn't bother getting up from his seat,

"Yeah," Jose replied.

"Wait—what's that?" he asked. The jet airplane flew across the city skyline and skyscrapers and dropped a huge wooden box the size of a small jeep behind the horizon of the buildings and blasted off as Devon gasped.

"What is that?" asked Devon.

"Food, medicine," Jose explained, "They've been dropping it for a month now and I think they're probably putting up hope someone will pick them up."

"Why so far away?" asked Devon.

"I don't know," replied Jose, "But I noticed they been dropping it in the more high class areas of the city."

"Looking for survivors," explained Devon, "And cradling the rich."

"They're fooling themselves if they expect us to run out into the streets," replied Jose, "They won't help us even if we showed them we're here."

"How do you know?" asked Devon.

"Their flight route is only in the west side, that's where a lot of the condos and studios are," explained Jose, "They're not looking for survivors they're looking for businessmen."

"It'd make more sense if they dropped them on the roofs," Devon declared. It was all so futile, because there were no survivors to pick up the food and supplies. Only the walking dead who commuted the streets and some who were pinned under the huge wooden crates filled with food. Though it was there for people to quickly get, it was also very far and risky for anyone to run out there and start grabbing, because as soon as they did, they'd be done for and everyone realized that, but it was so tempting.

"I'm going to bed," Jose announced as he walked off silently. Devon knelt down in front of the window with the binoculars looking around. "You going to bed?" asked Jose.

"Nope," replied Devon.

"Don't look at them too much, man," warned Jose, "You'll become obsessed very easily."

"Won't happen to me," Devon assured him holding up the binoculars to his eyes. "Alright, man," Jose sighed rubbing his stomach, "G'night." Devon raised his hand up silently, looking up and around the neighborhood. All he saw were the walking dead. The left, the right, in the alleys, in front of the buildings, walking through stores… but then suddenly he saw something that caught his eyes… something he couldn't turn away from… something that suddenly caused his undeniable attention.

Below, in the streets, he saw two male corpses fighting over remaining limbs of the SWAT team that raided the building seven blocks over, it was a wonder how there was still any parts from them present, but nonetheless, the two fought over an arm which the larger of the two was able to pry from a rotted woman who groaned as he hungrily snatched the arm and bit into it, sitting along the ground like a child as he ate the arm. The other, a man with long hair, or the remains of long hair seeping down his scalp, his face half eaten, his green tank top torn from the seams, held a severed head in his hand. The roots from the spine still dripped blood dragging on to the pavement, and he placed it on the ground.

Suddenly, Devon furrowed his brows at what he was seeing, and focused on that particular monster. At that moment, he stood up from the ground and walked over to a pile of rubble that lay on the ground, picked up a rock and dropped onto the floor sitting in front of the severed head, and grasped the rock crudely with its rotted claws and smacked it onto the head's skull, and again. He gave a soft groan seeming to focus now and then with both hands whacked the rock against the head again and again until finally it popped. He dropped the rock to the side and dug into the head devouring the brains with a delightful groan. Devon immediately drew his attention to an amazing sight across the street as two of the infected went to work on a boarded up doorway very slowly but steadily ripping apart the wood and steadily making their way in.

Devon lowered the binoculars slowly with a wide gaping mouth and gazed speechless with furrowed brows. Then he gave a soft laugh. He just couldn't believe what he'd seen. Progress. He placed the binoculars on the window sill and this time gave a hearty laugh of utter disbelief, "Oh, shit," he laughed nodding his head, "I said god damn. The bastards are getting smarter… they're getting smarter!" He laughed aloud and leaned back in his chair laughing again and again simply marveling at what he'd just seen before him. The complications just kept arising, and everything was suddenly about to get a hell of a lot harder.


	8. The Sound of Silence: Chapter Seven

**To the Readers:** _When I wrote this I had no idea where I'd go with it, so I put it in my "incomplete" folder and didn't touch it for at least six months. I was confused, I thought I'd make it into a short story about Devon and Monica, but I wanted to expand it. It's because of the surprising good reader reaction from chapter one that inspired me to dig this up and keep writing it. I have two more incomplete DOTD fan fictions that I intend on completing. Thanks to everyone for supplying the adrenaline to complete this. - _**Felix  
**_  
_

* * *

The sun arose that morning, the sunshine flooded through the darkness of the clouds for the first time in months, and it was shining along the concrete and gray buildings and skyscrapers. It was quiet as usual, no noise, no birds chirping, not anything, and for the first time the flood of groans, moans, and hungry growls outside the floor stopped, and no one seemed to notice as Terry and Dana lay together, Luis and Jose in their beds, and Monica who late nestled in her bed with her rifle beside her. The walking dead walked along the streets the sunlight glistening upon their corroded skin as they did their usual fumbling and stumbling on the ground. 

But there seemed to be an end to the silence as a thunderous noise sliced through the silence like a knife. The distant slamming and thumping broke through their sleep one by one like a car crash. Then there arose a loud crash in one of the rooms which caused the floor to stir and everyone leapt from their beds looking around in horror.

"What's going on!" Dana asked with a quivery voice, standing by their door.

"Get inside!" Terry screamed shoving her into the room.

"It sounds like they're breaking in!" Jose announced. He rushed to his bed grabbing a crowbar, and they ran to the back of the hall listening as the crashes persisted. Monica noticed Devon was missing but went for her gun drawing it in front and stood in the center of the hallway as they listened to the horrifying banging and roar of the doors like they were being pried open. Monica's first instinct was to go forward with her rifle and aimed creeping around the corner and jerked her head around looking to the door.

She gasped aloud with teary eyes and sighed dropping her gun with a faint glaze in her eyes. "Are they in!" Terry asked.

"Take a look," she said weakly pointing ahead. They all ran to the end of the hall and stopped in surprise as Devon stood by the barricaded doorway and shoved pieces of wood in front of it. They all took a very heavy sigh of relief nearly dropping from shock. "Oh fuck, man!" Luis screamed holding his chest, "You gotta be kiddin' me!" Monica dropped the gun and took a very deep groan of ease and slowly slid down the wall dropping to the floor in near tears, as Jose cursed aloud, "Fuck! What in god's name are you doing!" Jose asked still confused.

"I took apart the frame from my bed," explained Devon calmly and unaffected, "I figured, if we take the frames and metal bars and just keep the mattresses we can build a better barricade for these shit heads."

"You're crazy!" Luis screamed, "I mean, you're seriously fucking whacko! I told you, Terry!"

"What were you thinking!" Terry yelled as Dana walked off to the room in tears.

"I was thinking about us, alright?" Devon argued, "One step ahead, you said it yourself, Jose, remember?"

"I didn't mention anything about scaring the living shit out of us!" he yelled hurling the crowbar at him with a loud clank as Devon staggered back cowering as it slammed against the wall next to his head.

"What the fuck is your problem!" Devon yelled rushing to him.

"You're my problem!" Jose said approaching him, "Ever since you came here all you been doing is giving us orders, acting like you know what's going on and the rest of us are just helpless, I'm sick of it, and now you go and pull something stupid like this!"

"Hey, fuck you, man, if anything I'm the only one willing to face the facts around here, okay!" Devon explained, "I'm sorry if I don't feel the need to inform you of every move I make!"

"Can we calm down here?" Terry said pushing them apart.

"No, you **_gotta_** tell us," explained Jose, "Because, if you fuck up that little project of yours over there, we're all fucking screwed, you got that? Get off your fucking high horse!"

"Look—**_homeboy_**—," he said condescendingly, "I know what I'm doing here, as a matter of fact I seem to be the only one who knows what they're doing here!"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot, you were in Vietnam," explained Jose, "How long you gonna hold that over our heads? That don't mean shit right now, got it? And I know perfectly what I'm doing because if it were up to me I'd jam this fucking crowbar right into that skull of yours and leave you to those things!"

"Any time," Devon challenged calmly, "Any time you're ready."

"Guys! Guys!" Dana called with a whimper, "Luis fainted!" They all ran to his room as Monica stood sitting in the corner with her hand to her head.

She looked over at the door which was boarded up along with the metal railings that were propped up against the door in a slant with nails seeping through the wood. She was too weak to get up, and at that moment she wasn't surprised at the development. They rushed into his room as Dana hunched over him. Luis lay on the floor with his hand clutched to his heart as he grunted, sweat dripping down his face as he groaned softly, "It's his heart again," Dana whimpered. They all rushed into the room standing by the doorway as they looked down at him,

"What's wrong with his heart?" asked Devon.

"I don't know," replied Jose, "I didn't even know he had heart problems." Terry looked over by his bedside and sat at the corner of his bed noticing his bottle of pills which lay on its side.

Terry held the bottle up with disbelief and grimaced, "Fuck," he muttered, "Luis?" He knelt down beside him and wiped the sweat from his face with his hand, "Luis," he whispered, "How long have you been without your pills, huh? How long?"

"I….," he grunted clutching his chest and groaned, "…seven days…"

"Aw, Christ," Terry groaned standing up.

"What?" asked Devon.

"He needs pills for his heart," explained Terry, "He has a weak heart and it says he's supposed to take one of these whenever he gets excited."

"This is all your fault," Dana said to Devon.

"No, it's not, Dana," replied Terry, "He's been without them for seven days. It was only a matter of time before his heart turned against him. Anything could have triggered it."

"I guess that's why we've barely seen him," explained Devon.

"So… what now?" asked Jose. They all gathered in Terry's apartment as Dana tended to Luis down the hall. The tension was higher than ever and the four of them that were still strong enough to walk stood crouched into a circle, thinking about what to do next and whispering to each other.

"So, what are we going to do?" asked Terry.

"What **_can_** we do?" asked Monica, "He's dying."

"He's an old man," argued Jose.

"There's nothing **_to_** do," replied Devon.

"What?" everyone asked gazing over at him in disbelief.

"What are you talking about?" asked Jose.

"He's old, his heart is giving out," explained Devon, "I think we should just take care of him and wait for him to die."

"Are you crazy?" asked Jose, "I've known that man since I was ten, I'm not going to just let him die."

"There has to be another way," replied Terry.

"There's-no-other-way," Devon urged, "At least none I can think of. Unless one of you can make drugs or is a registered pharmacist, there's nothing we can do."

"There has to be something to do," Monica argued, "We can't just let him die."

"Then, what do you suggest, Monica?" asked Devon. She stood silent for a moment looking away. Devon stood up wrapping his rifle around his shoulder and stood by the door, "There's not a thing we can do," Devon declared, "So, we should cut our losses, and let him die in peace. Better that way than to be ripped apart by those things outside. I'm going to sleep."

He walked off as they sat still, and sighed heavily. Devon was right, but Luis was dying slowly and they had to help him, they felt they had to save him, at all costs. He was suffering very slowly, and they weren't about to just let him die. Devon crouched down by the doorway and continued his hammering as Monica stood behind him watching. Devon looked over to her and smirked as he continued his hammering, "Did I scare you?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Sorry about that," Devon smiled. Dana and the others stood by the doorway listening, frightened that at any minute one screw would fall loose and then it'd all be over.

"They're still outside, right?" Monica asked.

"They never go away," Devon replied with an uneven scoff and uncomfortable smirk, "I can hear them, you know… walking around, settling down, groaning…and breathing. They're not going anywhere. They're camping out. You know that? They're camping out, sitting on the steps, just waiting for us to slip up." He pressed his ear against the door listening to them move and stagger around. At the foot of the steps, the infected stumbled around awaiting their entrance, but they weren't planning on leaving any time soon.

"You should really get away from that door," Monica urged nervously.

"Relax," Devon replied walking off, "That door is tight… for now."

"F-For now?" asked Dana, "What are you talking about?"

"Please, don't say that," replied Monica.

"Can we all just get some sense knocked into us? What do I keep saying?" asked Devon, "Sooner or later, they're going to break into that door. As the bodies pile up, they're going to come through that thing like a steamroller, and then what?"

"What do we do then?" asked Monica.

"I say we pack our shit up, and we leave," he offered.

"Where?" Terry asked angrily, "Where are we going to go?"

"We can just run it," explained Jose, "They're slowing down. The more they rot, the more rigomortis sets in, the slower they're gettin'."

"We can make it," Devon insisted, "We'll find a better place."

"Even if we decided to leave, where would we go?" asked Terry.

"Safest place would be a roof, an attic, hopefully we can find someone who will help us," explained Monica.

"This is ridiculous," Terry scoffed.

"I can't," Dana pleaded near tears, "I-I can't, I'm too scared."

"No guts, no glory," Devon declared softly.

"Calm down, okay?" Terry demanded, "Cut her some slack."

"You could try being a little more sensitive," complained Monica.

"Sensitive about what? Huh!" Devon asked angrily, "Sensitive? Wake up, man, this is ridiculous. We don't have time for this. Those things are going to break through the door and we're here because she's scared?"

"Relax," Terry demanded sternly.

"Or what?" Devon asked approaching him, "What are you going to do?"

"Back off," Terry muttered.

"There's no fucking need for this!" explained Monica, "We can't be fighting each other!"

"I'm not the problem here," Terry explained, "It's this one who thinks we're still in Vietnam."

"At least I'm not clinging onto memories, man," replied Devon, "I'm moving on and trying to survive and all you keep doing is giving us false hope and holding onto your girlfriend there."

"Watch it," Terry warned him.

"This isn't war," explained Dana.

"Right," Devon replied, "This isn't. This is survival, but the only one that seems to get it around here is me."

"We get it, okay?" Dana asked, "You made your point."

"And what point is that, exactly?" asked Terry.

"That we're screwed, damned if we do, damned if we don't," explained Devon.

"Then what's the point?" asked Terry, "Why should we leave safety and go out there into danger?"

"Because this place isn't safe," Devon said aloud, "These walls are so thin, I could chew through them; the wood and foundation, everything is weak. I mean for Christ sake I can hear them walking around out there, and that's safety?"

"We can't build anything, I mean it's not like I can walk out there and get some screws and wood and build something," explained Terry, "This is the best we can do, and it's held up since this started."

"But you said it, they're slowing down," said Monica, "Why not just walk through the streets and climb up the fire escapes? I have to admit, I heard one of those things scratching at the door yesterday and I'm not feeling very safe, either. Escaping might be the only way to survive."

"The question isn't if we're going to survive," Devon declared, "The question is how is this going to end?" He looked over to Terry as he looked down thinking and listening to the scratching out behind their door, "How is this going to end, Terry?" asked Devon, "You guys complain I'm the self-appointed leader, but really the one running this show is you. Why don't you tell me?"

"I don't know," Terry replied gazing down. Devon glared at him and gave a half smirk knowing his response.

"Yes, you do… yes you do," Devon replied, "We all do. It's going to end with either those things breaking in here, or we leaving before they can have the power to, and if I had any bets to place, I'd say I prefer we high tail it the fuck out of this death trap before they bust through that door like water to a dam, and they will. The hinges are stone age, like this building."

"Really?" asked Dana.

"Oh, now you want my opinion?" Devon gloated, "Two hours ago Jose and this pacifist over here told me I was trying to push you guys around and now that I show some actual smarts you want my opinion, eh?"

"Just tell me," Dana argued, "Is that door really weak?"

"Suddenly," he said looking into her eyes with a glare, "She shows interest. You're all living in a dream world… reality is staring right square in the fucking face and you all are still living in the dream world you were in before this started. The answer is yes, Dana. I used to do a lot in Nam, the place you guys pay no attention to, and it saved my ass. I survived this long because of it, and now I'm going to help you guys."

"That door is weak," Devon explained, "Its steel but forty year old steel, the hinges are rusted and weak, the doorknob is practically falling off, it's just a miracle by god's good graces that that door hasn't given way on you guys but it will. One night, when you're lying in bed together, that door is going to crash open and you're all dead."

"You're stuck here, too," Dana argued, "You're begging people to come along with you."

"Fuck you," muttered Devon, "If I wanted to, I'd get my guns, pack up and leave. I survived before I met you people and I'll survive without you."

"Then why do you care?" asked Dana.

"Because I do," he replied, "But I care mostly for Monica, and she doesn't want to leave. Now, if you people don't mind, I'm going back to my—"**_project_**", and you can go back to your fool's pursuit of nursing Louis back to health."

He turned walking over to the door and knelt down propping the wood and steel that he was able to get a hold of to the door as the banging continued. They heard him, they smelled him, and one big mistake no one in the entire group noticed was that any hopes of stealth they were trying to obtain, or had obtained in the entire time they were held up within their floor was just flushed down the toilet thanks in part to their attempts to strengthen their defenses, now every one of them in the neighborhood within a two mile radius could hear the hammering and clanking, and smacks of wood on the floor, and they smelled the fresh meat, heard the breathing, the sweat on their skin, their hearts pumping delicious blood, and they scratched at the door and slammed their hands against their defense with much desperation and anxiety.

They were hungry, and they wanted in.


	9. The Sound of Silence: Chapter Eight

Up above up on the roof of the building, Jose propped up a ladder on the ledge and held his binoculars. Carefully he climbed the ladder which wobbled as he mounted it and stood on the top step. He climbed over the thick ledge and leaned against it looking around as the wind brushed against his face. It was humid that day, and the only actual wind that breezed through the roof was the warm thick wind that hit him with much disgust. There was silence for a moment as the pigeons in their large chicken wire coop flew around in a stir of distraction. Monica held on to her rifle below and slowly walked up to the steps into the roof hesitantly. It was the first time she'd mounted the steps up to the roof since she arrived there, and much like Dana, she'd sort of inhabited her fear, but instead chose to go up and take a look. The way the tension was mounting at that place, she just had to get some air. Bad thing for her the air was musty, and thick with humidity, so thick you could scoop it with a spoon.

She looked out onto Jose who startled her for a second and wrapped the rifle around her shoulder that pressed up against her black tank top she'd copped from Dana.

"What are you doing?" asked Monica.

"Sight seeing," Jose replied holding up the binoculars, "Nothing else to do around here."

"Be careful you don't fall or anything," she advised him tapping her finger against the pigeon coop, "Last thing we need is someone with a broken leg."

"Trust me," Jose explained, "I been doing this for a good while."

"What do you see?" she asked.

"Rubble, walking dead, dead bodies, dead faces," he explained with a scoff, "Same old, same old, you know?"

"Right," she replied, "You know—that thing that happened with Devon… he didn't mean it. He's just overprotective."

"He's an asshole, is what he is," replied Jose, "How did you manage to live with him for all that time?"

"I'm starting to wonder, too," she joked, "He's a good guy, you just gotta give him a chance. I wouldn't be around if it weren't for him."

"Yes, you would," replied Jose, "He's crazy, Monica."

"He's protective," she argued.

"I don't trust him," he replied. He gasped looking through the binoculars, "Oh!"

"What?" asked Monica.

"Take a look!" He dropped onto the floor and helped her up. They climbed up the ladder together to the top. She stepped onto the thick ledge as Jose stood behind her and looked down onto the streets below. She held up the binoculars and smiled with a loud surprised chuckle as they both looked down into the street. Below, there were a group of alley dogs, seven or eight of them, and as the infected walked in groups along the streets, three of them began attacking the bodies. A torn woman staggered along the street and suddenly with a fierce growl three of them jumped on top of her as she groaned aloud. Two of them tore viciously at her arms as she fell onto the ground and they mounted her ripping her to pieces. Along the sidewalk two other dogs nibbled at another of their kills eating away at the face and nose.

"Yeah!" Monica whispered aloud raising her hand up in victory, "Tear that bitch up." They both gave a loud chuckle as the dogs continued attacking passersby, mauling them and eating them within minutes. It was the first happy sight they'd seen in months before it all started, and for once they were actually laughing. The pack of dogs continued attacking which ever one of the infected passed them, mangling them to bits and pieces, tearing them up, and after an hour they'd moved on, and then they were forced to look on to the usual scenery as always. "Why are they eating them?" asked Monica.

"I don't know," replied Jose, "But if I had to make a bet, I'd say they couldn't find food, they were starting to starve and now they're turning on them. At least they're not afraid of them, anymore."

"Is it possible this could be a good sign?" asked Monica as she dropped onto the floor of the roof. "It's possible," Jose said helping her up as she brushed off her pants, "It could be a slight possibility that they can help us if the going got rough. They must love the taste. All I know is that's the best fucking sight I've seen in months!"

"I wonder how many of them there are," Monica wondered with a smile. The wind was getting harsh, and still thick, and the scent of death and rotting flesh was still fresh in the air. It'd become as natural a smell to them as roses and lilacs, and they'd adapted to it.

"Where'd you get that gun?" asked Jose.

"From Devon," she explained cradling it, "We found it in a gun shop somewhere out in the West Side. He used to teach me how to shoot with it when we were stranded on that roof down by the mall."

She held the rifle in her arms and flipped it with one hand gripping it with her left hand pointing it. She turned pointing to the wall, and flipped it over to her right hand in a stunning display as Jose gasped.

"Damn," Jose marveled, "That's great."

"He taught me how to do that when we got stuck on a trailer somewhere outside the city," she said wrapping it around her shoulder, "Took two weeks to learn."

"You know how to shoot that thing?" asked Jose.

"Oh, yeah," she replied, "I'm pretty good at it; he's always told me to keep it with me, and with what's been happening lately, I just can't seem to let it out of my sight."

"You know about those things as well as I do," Urged Devon, "Right?"

"Yes," replied Monica.

"Because you know well, like I do that those things are merciless, unrelenting, ruthless," he explained.

"Yes," she replied, "Which is why I think we shouldn't leave."

"We have to," he urged her, "We have to. They're going to come in. These things are strong. You can kill them easily, but they're strong!"

"But I saw what I saw, you gotta believe me," she explained, "Those dogs were tearing those thing up piece by piece!"

"Look, I believe you," explained Devon, "But who knows where those dogs are by now. We have to find some place else to go. We have to keep moving. It's the smart thing to do in the long run."

"Hey guys," Terry said walking into the room, "Wanna come into the hallway? We're having a little meeting." He walked off as Monica looked to Devon with concern. They all gathered into the middle of the hallway, standing by Louis' room as Monica stood beside Terry with her rifle still wrapped around her shoulder.

"What's going on?" asked Monica.

"Well… as you can see Louis is dying," explained Terry, "And if we don't get him help soon, he's going to die a painful death."

"So?" asked Monica.

"We talked and we want to go down and get him some medicine," replied Dana. Monica raised her brows with her arms crossed and scoffed aloud in disbelief, "What!" she said loudly, "Are you kidding me?"

"Just hear us out for a minute," explained Terry.

"No! No, I won't hear you out, this is ridiculous!" Monica argued, "You're telling me you're actually willing to go down there and risk your lives?"

"He's our friend," Jose argued.

"And you're morons," argued Monica, "I like him too, but god sake, gain some common sense!"

"I thought **_I_** was stupid," Devon interrupted walking out of the room, "But, god, you people managed to take some more from the pool."

"No one asked your opinion," Jose argued.

"But I'll give it anyway." Devon challenged, "You got to be the stupidest

people"

"—Look, before you start barking orders, hear us out, okay?" Terry explained, "That man in there is holding on to his life and I have to do whatever I can to help him, alright? He needs us, he's our friend. That may not mean anything to you, but he does mean something to all of us. He's relying on us."

"We need your help," Dana said, "Please."

"Devon you're more experienced than we are," Terry explained, "You can really be of help to us."

"You're not getting it. You people are so thickheaded. You're going to get yourselves killed, badly, and just because you want to get some medicine?"

"We'll do it quickly," Jose argued.

"Oh yeah?" asked Devon, "How far is it?"

"Across the street," replied Terry.

"So it might as well be in hell," explained Devon, "Do you know the actual name of the medicine?"

"Yes," replied Terry.

"The medicinal name? Uh, are you willing to spend an hour there looking through the medicine, because an hour is like a lifetime, and what if the medicine is not even there? What if they catch you off-guard?"

"We'll figure it out, okay?" argued Terry, "We don't need this."

"You haven't learned a thing from this experience," replied Devon, "And you're not going out there."

"Excuse me?" asked Terry.

"You heard me," Devon replied.

"And who made you the decision maker around here?" argued Dana.

"I'm not letting you guys go out there and get yourself killed," Devon replied.

"If you let him die, you're a murderer, and you're no better than those things outside," argued Terry.

"Better he dies in peace," explained Devon, "Case closed."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" asked Jose. He rushed up to him and stood face to face with him as the group yelled trying to keep them apart, "You think you're going to say what you want and that's how it's going to be?"

"I'm doing it for our own good!" replied Devon, "Get out of my face!"

"That's enough!" Monica yelled.

"Yeah, why don't you make me!" he screamed.

"You're not leaving!" Devon ordered.

"And who's going to keep us here!" Jose said pushing him, "You!"

"Oh, yeah," Devon said whipping out his shotgun out cocking it hard. They all staggered back in a gasp.

"Devon," Terry said holding his hands up, "Put the gun down."

"Pleasecalm down," Dana said in tears.

"Put the gun down, Devon," Monica ordered.

"Feel like being a tough guy, now Ghetto boy?" Devon said pointing the gun at Jose. Jose looked over at him without a word and nodded, "You're going to point that me?" he asked staring down the barrel of his gun, "Pointing a gun at me? Is this how you're going to get control?"

"No, ghetto boy," Devon replied cocking the gun, "This is how I'm going to knock sense into you."

"Look, you made your point, okay," Dana pleaded, "Put the gun down!"

"Devon, please, please," Monica begged, "Put down the gun, we can't do this."

"Look, this is what they want," Terry said panting nervously, "We're just as bad as they are."

"What do I have to do to convince you people?" asked Devon, "It's a suicide mission, you understand me? The only way we're stepping outside is if we leave here for good, not to go on some stupid hunt for a medicine that may not even be at the pharmacy!"

"I think I'm more worried about that gun," Terry replied.

"This is nothing," Devon insisted, "Wait until those things break in here!"

"Put the fucking gun down!" Monica demanded.

"Wait—what did you say?" asked Dana.

"What?" asked Devon.

"What did you say about them breaking in here?" she asked.

"They will," Devon insisted.

"You're saying that like it's a definite possibility," Dana replied.

"Are you going to let them in here?" asked Luis, "Is that it?"

"No," replied Devon, "You think I want to die?"

"Then what!" Monica yelled, "What?"

"Do you know something we don't?" asked Terry.

"Tell us!" Dana screamed.

"They're getting smarter!" Devon blurted aloud, "Alright?"

There was a sudden halt in everything that was happening. They all stopped in their tracks as a silence fell over the halls.

"Wait," Monica scoffed, "What did you just say?"

"They're getting smar-ter," Devon emphasized, "What was I telling you before?"

"Smarter?" asked Terry.

"Yes, smarter, **_more intelligent_**, how much do I have to fucking repeat it to you!" Devon asked cocking his gun hammer.

"Smarter how?" asked Dana.

"They're growing brains it seems, ever thought about doing that yourself?" explained Devon, "The other night—the other night when Jose went to bed, I saw one of them crack open a head like a fucking piñata with a rock."

"So?" asked Monica.

"So?" Devon asked angrily, "They're evolving, strategizing, planning. When this all started they had to claw through a wall to get to us, now they're using weapons to get what they want."

"What makes you think that means they're coming in here?" asked Luis.

"They're using weapons, which means they can use basic motor functions, which means sooner or later they'll learn how to build, which means sooner or later, they're going to find a way in!" Devon explained, "We have to get the fuck out of here before it's too late."

"You're insane," Dana declared.

"Listen to me, god damn it!" Devon screamed, "We have to leave, now! Do you understand that? Not to get medicine for some old guy, but together in a pack watching each other's back!"

"We're not going anywhere," Terry declared.

Suddenly there was a clang at the door, a soft clang that was as gentle a sound as floor creaking, but it kept them silent. The clomping persisted very softly and then slightly harder as it kept repeating over and over and over as it would clank against the door drag down the steel surface and then clank a second later. They all furrowed their brows and in unison looked over by the door as Devon kept his gun up. A smile grew over his face as he looked at all of them with victory and sighed. He couldn't stop smiling and began to chortle as they drew their attention to him,

"What is that?" asked Terry.

"I don't know," replied Devon.

"What is it!" Jose yelled.

"Well, gee, I'm not a genius, Jose," Devon explained with a smirk, "but if my ears don't fail me, it sounds like a pipe."

There was a long silence as Terry listened to the noise by the door, "A pipe?" Terry asked alarmed, "Where'd they get a pipe?"

"The question you should be asking is how long it will take before the rest of his friends join along?" he boasted, "He's a fast learner. The one I saw, now he took about thirty minutes before he broke open a skull like it was a fucking coconut. This one took five minutes, and he's probably the smartest I've seen. I wonder," he pondered for a moment quirking his brow, "I wonder how long it will take for them to catch on. And this is only the beginning. First rocks, pipes, and sticks, then guns, and chainsaws… they're evolving just like every other new species. And we have to go, **_now_**."

"Put that gun down and we'll listen to you," Terry offered.

"No," Devon replied, "I'm making the rules now, you got me, I am. Me. Like I should have been doing in the first place, and we're going to leave here, not go on a mission, but leave for good."

"And what about Luis?" asked Jose.

"We leave him here," explained Devon.

"What?" asked Terry, "That's murder."

"That's mercy," replied Devon, "Something those things know nothing about."

"And what are you going to do?" asked Jose, "You going to keep guard twenty four hours a day? Huh? You're stupid. You think you're going to keep us under lock and key forever? Inevitably you're going to let your guard down" Terry stepped forward slightly, holding his hands out as Devon stood back holding his gun to him, "Go ahead," Devon challenged, "You think I won't shoot you either?"

There was a short silence as suddenly Terry rushed form the room with a scream and smashed her lamp across the back of Devon's head with a loud crash. Devon staggered forward in a daze as she stood back crying. He staggered for a bit as Terry and Jose rushed him quickly. Jose yanked his shotgun from his hand struggling to grab it from Devon's hand, who refused to let go as Terry smacked him from behind with a small figurine. He hit him with a small thump as Devon lurched forward with a groan still staggering, and leaned against the wall. Jose finally yanked the gun from his grip and stood back and held the gun pointing at Devon, "He won't go down," Terry muttered.

"Again!" Jose warned. Terry rushed and smacked him again and again finally knocking him down. Devon's body slammed onto the floor with a smack and lay flat on his stomach motionless and groaning.

Jose pointed the gun preparing to shoot, "No!" Monica screamed shoving him back in a split second as the shot gun fired into the ceiling. She tackled Jose to the ground as the shotgun slid to the staircase. He pushed her off him as she stood up punching him in the face knocking him on his butt, "You bastard!" she screamed kicking at him.

"Relax!" Jose urged regaining his balance as he pushed her back , "I wasn't going to shoot him."

"Then what were you going to do!"

"I was just pointing it at him in case he came at me," he explained, "Calm down."

"Fuck you!" she yelled shoving him.

"Is he dead?" Dana asked in tears.

"No," Terry replied kneeling down beside him, "He's stunned. And he's still not unconscious. Damn, he can take a licking. It was like hitting a brick wall."

"Hold him up," Jose said as they held his arms picking him up with a loud grunt, "Damn, he's heavy!" Terry muttered holding him with Jose, "Just slide him across the hall," Jose said grunting loudly. They both carried him sliding his body across the hall, his feet dragging against the floor and they plopped him down onto a chair as his head bobbed back and forth. He groaned dropping his head back as they stood over him.

"Christ, he's heavy," Terry said groaning and rubbing his shoulder.

"What are you going to do with him?" asked Monica.

"We'll strap him down with the sheets on the chair and keep him there while we do what we're going to do," explained Terry.

"Tie him quick," Dana warned anxiously as she fidgeted like a coke head without a hit, "Before he comes to."

"Come on," Terry said. They rushed out of the room and began gathering up their spare sheets from the closets. They walked over to him and held him down while Terry wrapped the sheets around him and around the chair. They began tying him down into the chair, and wrapped his hands together with a rag as he groaned barely able to keep conscious. They all stood back looking at their work as Devon groaned aloud in pain, his head gashed pretty badly but barely a drop of blood coming from the corner of his head, his body now tied down and strapped as tight as they could tie him.

"That will do," Terry said panting, "I guess."

"Is he down good?" asked Dana.

"As tight as we could tie him," replied Jose, "Relax."

"We leave him here?" asked Terry.

"I'm not dragging him down the hall," replied Jose.

"He's fine here," replied Dana.

"Alright then, let's go," replied Jose. They all left the room as Monica looked down at him, saddened but confused. She was willing to admit he was going over the edge and becoming very violent, she'd seen it herself, so she figured it was only best they control him, but he was also making sense. She didn't know who to ally with, and she just didn't know how to react anymore.

"Monica," Jose said patting her shoulder, "You gotta understand, we had to do this to him. There was no other choice."

"I don't want to understand shit," she replied shoving his arm away, "I don't know who to side with, but I know he doesn't deserve this."

"You were with him a long time," Jose explained, "You know how he is."

"Give me a break," Monica said, "I know you people, I know what you're doing, and I know you're going to get yourself killed…," she stood face to face with him looking into his eyes angrily, "and I know you were going to shoot him, too." Jose lowered his head as she began walking off taking one last look at him on the chair and nodded, "Monica," Jose called, "We need your help. You learned a lot from him, you can help us."

"No," she replied firmly, "You wanted to take control," she unlooped her rifle from her shoulder and threw it at him angrily, "Then you do it your own fucking self, I'm not getting myself killed." She walked off silently and turned again, "You want some advice at least?"

"Sure, anything," Jose said confidently.

"Alright. Make sure you tie him down good and tight," she warned, "Because if and **_when_** he breaks free from those sheets, **_he's going to kill you_**." She scoffed and walked off as he stood against the doorway looking over at Devon whose eyes were glazed over. Her threat put him in a sense of discomfort, because it wasn't entirely far-fetched, none of them knew what he did in Vietnam, still, and he had the ability to kill them without thought, and at the rate his sanity was diminishing, it wasn't exactly a far off thought. 


	10. The Sound of Silence Chapter Nine

"So, how are we going to do this?" asked Terry.

"I don't know," Jose replied with a sigh, "But we have to think of some way to get across the street without being seen, and that's going to be a real bitch."

"You're tellin' me," replied Terry, "I don't even know how we'd climb down without being noticed."

"Maybe through the fire escapes," Jose said furrowing his chin with his fingers, "We could unblock the windows and one of us would go down through there."

"It's facing the city square," replied Terry, "If you did that, you may as well stand in the street waving your arms."

Monica walked past them into her room and walked into the bathroom washing her hands as Jose walked in behind her, "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Skydiving," she replied, "What does it look like?"

"I know you're mad at me," he began.

"I'm not," she replied, "I'm just thinking about how stupid you guys are. You refuse to listen, you're going to get killed."

"We have to do this. For him," Jose warned, "Luis needs us. I can't let him die, I just can't."

"Then do what you have to do," Monica replied pushing him out of her way, "I'm not getting involved in this. I've already spent endless months risking my life, and that was to save myself. I'm not about to risk my life for something I know is just clear and utter stupidity."

"Fine," replied Jose, "But he's crazy, you know that?"

"You're all crazy," replied Monica. Devon sat in the chair, the only loose movement in him was his head. His head was pounding like a drum, and he could barely see, but he'd finally come to after all that time, and he could barely make out where he was. Monica walked in with a bottle of peroxide and a dish rag and sat on the bed beside him laying the bottle on the floor. He lowered his head with a soft groan and squinted his eyes looking over to Monica who sat in front of him.

"How you doing?" she asked dabbing the rag with the peroxide.

"Not so good," he replied with a slur, "I'm really achy."

"You'll live," she replied, "It just looks like a nasty gash on the head."

"Who did it?" he asked finally opening his eyes, "Who was it that hit me?"

"Dana," she replied, "And Terry."

"Two, eh?" he asked.

"You were hard to drop," she replied with a nod of disbelief, "Does your head hurt much?"

"Like a bitch," he replied, "But I taken harder hits before."

"Yeah, I could tell," she joked.

"Why didn't you stop them?" he asked, "Huh?"

"I don't know," she replied pondering.

"Did you help them?"

"No," she answered immediately. They made eye contact, and then it was settled. He believed her, and she wouldn't have in a million years.

"Where are they now?" he said with a sigh.

"Planning," she replied.

"You helping them?" he asked.

"What do you think?" she asked with a quirked brow.

"Good," he replied raising his brows with satisfaction, "You learned something from me after all."

"I learned a lot from you," she replied standing up. She stood over him and dabbed the wet rag on his forehead as he gasped grunting from the pain and turned his head away.

"Damn, nothing hurts worse than that," he replied groaning in pain. They heard them walking around in the distance walking up to the roof. Monica sighed in disappointment and nodded, "You're going to kill them, they're going to get themselves killed," she complained, "I don't know what's more scary, those things outside, or the people inside."

"I'll take the people inside," Devon replied, "If those monsters outside don't get us… the monsters in our head eventually will."

"Either way," she said sitting down beside him, "We're dead… aren't we?" He sighed looking down, then thought for a moment, looked over to her and nodded. She stood up shrugging and brushed herself off, basically unaffected by his answer.

"Huh," Devon said looking over to her, "I never noticed that before."

"What?" she asked.

"You," he replied, "I'm going to sound like a pervert," he scoffed, "But you look great in that black tank top. All this time, I never noticed you had a good body." She scoffed and turned, "Careful, pops," she advised him wagging her finger.

"We can just make a run for it," Jose suggested.

"A run for it?" asked Terry, "If even one of them spots us we're dead. You'll be stuck there."

"We have to think of something, quick," Dana urged, "I don't know how long Luis can hold up without his medicine."

"Who's going to go?" asked Jose.

"I will," replied Terry.

"You can't," Dana replied with a whimper, "You could die."

"I have no other choice," Terry warned.

"Do you know how to shoot if one of those things comes at you?" asked Jose.

"No, but I can learn," replied Terry.

"No, you'll be too slow," replied Jose, "I'll go." He stepped forward looking along the ledge looking out onto the city streets down at the pharmacy below. It was going to be a challenging mission for them, but they were desperate to help Luis. The pharmacy wouldn't be an easy situation. The windows were shattered leaving anyone exposed to the outside, it was dark and there was no real definite chance the medicine would be there, but they felt it was worth it in the long run if they could have their friend with them to live another day.

"I know this neighborhood like the back of my hand," explained Jose, "I've lived here since I was born. I've been in every corner, of every block and I can do it. Plus I was always a fast runner in high school."

"What can I do?" asked Terry.

"Just wait," he replied, "If I don't make it back… just take care of Luis until he goes, and then just move on and wait for more survivors."

"What makes you think there's going to be more?" asked Terry.

"If we found Devon and Monica," Jose assured him, "There's got to be more. Devon was wrong. There has to be more survivors, somewhere. They're out there, I know it. They're somewhere together in a small village or something. They have to be."

Terry and Dana comforted him as he leaned his head against the ledge near tears. He had to give himself hope, it was something none of them had, it was something lost on the collapse of civilization and the emergence of the new threat upon the world, but he had to believe there were actually more survivors out there, because what was the point of going on if there weren't? It couldn't all have been hopeless. "What about weapons?" asked Terry.

"We'll borrow their guns," Jose said looking down the steps, "They have to at least give us that." He walked down the steps and rushed through the hallway looking for Monica and stepped by the door where Devon was strapped down in. He walked in and saw Monica sitting beside Devon talking to him.

"Hi," Jose muttered.

"Get out of here," Monica demanded.

"I need to talk to you," he asked.

"When I break free from this you're mine," Devon warned with a growl, "You hear me!" He jumped up on the chair beginning to get frantic, panting softly as Jose stepped back. Monica rushed out of the room as Devon began getting enraged, yelling aloud. She shoved Jose back into the hall as Devon began screaming.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I need your rifle," he replied.

"For what?" she asked.

"I'm going to need to be armed if I'm going to do this," he explained.

"So you're really going through with this?" she asked.

"I have to," he argued.

"You're going to get yourself killed," she warned him, "They're not as dumb as you think, you know?"

"I know, I heard Devon warn us," he said walking off.

"Don't you fucking dismiss me like that!" she said pushing him against the wall, "What you're doing is ridiculous, you hear me? I'm tired of having to pick sides, I been doing that since I got here, and I'm sick of it! No one wants to listen, but fine, if you think you can do this, then do it."

She walked over to her bed tossed her rifle to him as he held it in his arms, "Take the rifle, the shotgun is too loud," she explained, "Be careful."

"I'll try," he replied, "Thanks."

"Just aim and shoot," she warned him, "You take too long and they'll be on your ass before you can even think about taking a second shot."

"I'm going to be fine," he explained, "I know how to sneak around this place."

"You think so," she argued, "But when you have those things crawling around quietly, it's going to be a whole other ballgame. When are you going?"

"In a little while," he replied, "We're planning first, and I have to prepare a route to where I'll be going through."

"Good luck," she replied, "It was nice knowing you." In Devon's room he sat listening to their conversation and grunted softly wobbling around in the chair, softly hopping on the floor with a light thump. He grunted struggling to break free and twisted his wrist with all his might finally breaking free from the wrist restraints, and now began on the sheets tying him down.

Night finally dropped down onto the city, and the planning and strategizing had finished for now, and everyone entered their separate corners. Jose's plan of retrieving the medicine was still basically uncertain among them, and it was too late to go down there in the lion's den. Jose sat on the roof near the pigeon coop writing in his notepad thinking about what possible routes he could take without being seen, but it would be tough. They were everywhere, like bugs. In every crawlspace, in every alley, in every crevice, and the only hope for survival was taking to high and low places, never mid level where the ground used to be.

He stood up and turned standing atop the ladder and looked through his binoculars again, looking around for a potential pathway. It was amazing. It had been literally months after the infection spread worldwide and they were still walking the streets, and there went the dogs again coming back for the kill. There were more this time and they were going for the kill, it was a wonder if the humans would resort to cannibalism if food ever went low the way the dogs were acting. From the hungry looks on their faces and the way they mercilessly and relentlessly tore at the walking dead one by one, they were out for blood. But there was no blood since the bodies were consistently rotted and decaying. A younger dog of the pack nibbled away at a crawling zombies mangled leg. A younger man made his way along the street crawling as the dog chewed at his bones. He groaned and turned meekly swatting at them, but it was useless as they tore up the remaining ligaments of his feet.

They hungrily fed on as many of the dead as they could and inevitably just sat beside the street nibbling on bones and ribcages tearing into the chests as the monsters squirmed on the street groaning in pain. He sighed now knowing that eating the walking dead was no longer about eating to survive. They liked the taste now, and they'd become fiends for it. Jose adjusted his binoculars and looked over to the toppled cars, some of which were still smoking and suddenly it hit him, the cars were the key. He gasped and rushed down the steps into the hallway and rushed to Terry. "The cars," he began as they sat on Terry's bed, "The cars still have gas in them, right?"

"Yeah."

"I figure what I could do is take the rifle, and with one good shot shoot one of the gas tanks of the trucks," he explained.

"There's a good chance none of the trucks have gas," said Terry.

"But what if they did?" asked Jose, "They're practically dynamite."

"But you're not that good a shot," warned Terry, "How the hell are you going to shoot a gas tank from a block away?" It was about that time they suddenly discovered their need for Devon who was actually an excellent shot, but it was hopeless and they figured they'd be better off going about it on their own.

"It's worth a try," replied Jose, "I have to try. If I shoot the gas tank just right, at the right angle, if I hit that sweet spot, it will explode, and then it will distract those things. They're attracted to warmth and movement, and they'd naturally flock to see if anyone was around to set it off, and while they're attention is drawn to the fire and black smoke, I can make a run for it, and be out of there in twenty minutes." Terry sighed and leaned forward pondering about the plan. It was a very heavy burden among the three of them, and Monica lay in bed listening to them. She couldn't help be worried for them; they were good people and they took them in, but it was a very lethal venture they were about to partake in and she knew something bad was going to happen.

She couldn't help listen to them as she lay awake in bed, and without Devon's presence it made her equally uncomfortable. She checked her watch and saw it was only eleven o'clock and walked along the dark hallways listening to everyone sleep and walked into his room as he sat awake groaning in exhaustion.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

"No," he replied, "I'm tired, I'm pissin' on myself, and those bastards put me in front of the doorway."

"You want me to move you?" she asked looking at the door.

"No, that's fine," he replied, "I been close to the enemy before, god it's hard to sleep listening to them walk around out there."

"I know," she replied.

"What are you doing up?" he asked.

"I couldn't sleep," she explained, "It's cold and I missed you, and listening to them talk all night made me uneasy. There's just no convincing them."

"I'm not crazy," he assured her, "You know that, right?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore," Monica said, "I don't know. I want to free you, but you're losing it, you nearly killed them, Devon." Devon sighed lowering his head and looked over to her, "What's the plan they have?" he asked.

"They're going to shoot a gas tank to distract them and he's going to make a run for it," she explained.

"Stupid," he declared with a scoff, "They don't know what they're getting themselves into."

"Why?"

"I'll keep it to myself," he replied with a half smirk, "They're going to die."

"Is there something you haven't told me about them?" she asked.

"Maybe," he replied nodding, "But I'll just let them figure it out for themselves." She sighed annoyed, "You're all alike," she declared, "Plotting against each other, scheming to hurt one another. You can all just go straight to hell." She walked off as he sat in the chair wiggling around. He grunted squirming in the seat determined to break free from the chair, he could feel the back of the chair slowly breaking as he struggled with all his might.

Jose stood on the ledge looking down at the rifle and held it up to his eye looking through the scope, testing it out. Then came the dawn, and the planning commenced as Jose slept on the roof all night falling asleep to the sound of the pigeons and immediately went to work. After two hours of aiming for the right spot of a turned over car, the sweet spot he was looking for, Terry and Dana finally convinced him to eat breakfast, and he'd finally lay out his plan to Terry,

"So?" asked Terry.

"I was thinking about it all night, planning and strategizing," explained Jose, "I already know how I'll do this."

"Okay," he said with a shrug, "Go ahead."

"In a couple of hours," he began, "This is how it will go down… I'm going to stand on the ledge and aim, and when I find the right car, I'll shoot the tank blowing it to pieces, there in attracting those things to it to look for any fresh meat, meanwhile, I'll run all the way down to the end of the rows of roofs that lead to the city square, and head down the ladder, where I'll enter the alleyways, make my way past the ball courts, through the small street at the west end, make a run for it, and go into the pharmacy. I'll settle in for a few minutes, and begin rummaging for the medicine and double back." Terry sighed and rubbed his nose between his glasses thinking about what they were about to commit to.

"You have to promise me you'll be careful," he urged.

"I'll try," he replied with a heavy burdened sigh, "It wont be easy."

"Are you sure you can do this?" asked Dana.

"No," he replied, "But I have do, don't I? Luis is counting on me—on us, and in case I don't come back"

"—Don't talk like that," pleaded Dana.

"—No," Jose insisted, "I mean it. It's like Devon said, face reality. There's a good chance I won't make it back."

"Then why are you going?" asked Monica standing by the door.

"Because, just because I might not make it back, doesn't mean I shouldn't try," Jose argued, "I might not make it back, and in case I don't, just keep going, okay? Promise me." Dana hugged him tight as Terry nodded silently, lowering his head. It was possibly his last meal before he went down below, and he shook with every bit of fright that was expected. He was determined, but it didn't mean he wasn't frightened for his life, and the shaking hands showed that he was horrified, and everyone noticed, even Monica who watched in helplessness. After the breakfast had finished, Monica sat in her room at the foot of her bed spinning her gun as they walked around behind her. Jose stepped by the door and sat behind her.

"You gonna miss me?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied coldly, "Maybe."

"Admit it," he insisted, "before I go."

"I'll miss you," she admitted slightly looking behind her, "You were a good friend to me… us."

"Wish me luck?" he asked.

"Good luck," she replied, "If you don't make it back, I'll take care of them… okay?"

"Thanks," he replied patting her back.

"Are you scared?" she asked.

"What gave it away?" he joked.

"The cold sweaty palms," she replied, "Shaky voice."

"I'm horrified," he admitted, "My stomach is in knots, I'm pretty sure I won't be coming back at all."

"Here," she stood up walking over to her bag and pulled out a revolver, spun the cylinder and handed it to him. He took it reluctantly, looking up at her curiously, "What's this for?" he asked.

"If and when you're backed into a corner," she explained, "and you're pretty sure there's no where else to go… turn it, stick the barrel into your mouth diagonal-wise, and squeeze the trigger."

"Vote of confidence," he said with a faint smile.

"I'm doing you a favor, okay?" she replied, "From what I've seen, it's painful to be torn apart by them, I've seen people scream in tears while being torn apart. Do yourself a favor, and spare yourself the misery. Pull the fucking trigger. Got it?" He didn't respond and lowered his head slightly nodding as he held the revolver in his hands.

"Thank you," he muttered with a shaky whisper.

"Don't fire it unless you're going to do it," she advised, "It makes a loud noise, and you'll need the bullets."

"Will it hurt?" he asked.

"I don't know," she admitted, "I've almost done it a couple of times… but the brain feels no pain. Better you're out while they're doing their business then experience it whole, you know?" He looked over at her gripping the gun in his hand and smiled very lightly. It was hard to hide his fear from everyone.

"I didn't think it was going to be like this," he confessed, "I wanted to live, I wanted to get rich and famous, and get married, and have a bunch of kids, and just—sit on the couch watching TV all day."

"Join the club," she replied.

"Are you ready?" asked Terry standing by the door.

"Yeah," he replied, "I am." He sighed long and hard and stood up gripping the gun in his sweaty hands and walked off. Monica didn't bother to look back, yet sat at the edge of her bed. "How good were you at climbing rope?" asked Terry.

"Why?" asked Jose.

"I figure instead of climbing the ladder and wasting time, you can just slide down some tied up sheets that leads below. It will be faster in the long run."

"Sure," he replied, "Sounds okay."

"We'll begin as soon as possible," explained Terry, "I don't know how long Luis can hold out. He's going fast."

"Let me get the rifle," he said. He walked to his room and held the rifle in his hand and stuck the revolver into the back of his pants. He wrapped the rifle around his neck hanging it from his shoulder and sighed again. He yanked his crucifix from his neck and placed it on the center of his bed. He dropped to his knees and lowered his head,

"Madre santa de Maria del dios ruego que usted me proteja contra el malvado fuera de mi puerta," he whispered with all his emotions, "Ponga su mano de guía en mí y guárdeme rápidamente y silenciosamente, y en sus tolerancias pido su ayuda. Y cuando voy a su reino, diríjame con los brazos abiertos. Amen." He mimed the sign of the cross and kissed his crucifix. He sighed as his heart practically beat through his chest and stood up turning to see Monica who listened by the door with her arms crossed.

He furrowed his brows with an uncertainty, "Time to go." 


	11. The Sound of Silence: Chapter Ten

He put his hand on her shoulder and walked out of the room as Monica looked over to his bed gazing at his crucifix which lay on his bed. She lowered her head and went back to her room. Jose walked up the steps into the dim light of day, and stood in front of the door as Terry tied together the ends of the sheets he'd acquired one by one tugging at them to test their stability. They reached for about as far as he could go without weakening the link with the sheets, and dropped it down in front of him looping it around his arms like a rope.

"Are you sure you're prepared?" asked Terry.

"Yes," he replied, "Just—watch my back when I get down there, okay?"

"I promise," he replied patting his shoulder.

Jose took off the rifle from his shoulder and climbed to the top of the ladder finally reaching the top step. He coughed and lay the rifle on his shoulder, looked through the scope and looked around for a proper truck to shoot at. He couldn't help but shake while he held it in his hands and squeezed the trigger setting off a shot that blasted a car wheel blowing it up as it popped with a screech. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a long sigh and set his eyes into the scope, shot, this time shooting the back of the car blowing the bumper off the trunk. The walking dead didn't notice where the shots were coming from and continued walking as the shot rang out.

"Damn it," Jose muttered. He climbed down the ladder with the rifle in his arms and looked over to Terry who awaited his response, "What's wrong?" asked Terry.

"I'm having trouble shooting it," he replied, "This thing keeps jerking me back and I keep missing."

"So—you want to just go down or keep trying?" he asked.

"We need the bullets," he replied, "And I need a distraction."

"Well, you should keep trying then," Terry urged. Monica entered the roof with her rifle in hand and walked by them climbing the steps of the ladder silently. She mounted herself atop the ladder and leaned her head against the rifle looking through the scope.

"Whenever you're ready," she muttered.

"What are you?"

"Just go," Monica replied, "Remember, shoot the head and they go down." They didn't bother wasting time asking why she was helping, and just rushed off, rifle and long sheet link in tow. They climbed over the sills of the connecting roofs and continued running to the end. Terry found a pipe in the canvas of the roof and tied it down into the water pipe looping it into a knot. He gripped it tight clutching it together and pulled with all his might testing its durability. He walked over to the edge of the building and looked down into the dark alley below, "The coast is clear," he declared. He dropped the sheet down letting it dangle alongside the building and stood back.

"Ready," Terry whispered aloud. He looked over to Jose who gazed down below, "Remember," he instructed, "every minute, every second counts." Jose nodded rubbing his hands together. Monica closed one eye aiming below and caught sight of a mail truck and squeezed the trigger shooting the frame without result. She took a breath, squeezed the trigger and shot—boom! The truck exploded with a thunderous clap blowing apart the trucks entire exterior and burst in to flames and even managed to take a few of the infected in the process. She looked over at them and gave the thumbs up, "**_Go._**"

Jose threw his legs over the roof and slowly grabbed onto the rope of sheets that lengthened down into the depths below. He quickly began lowering himself down the rope sliding down quickly as he grunted desperately trying to keep from falling down. "Its okay, Luis," Dana said wiping his forehead of sweat, "You're going to get better." He grunted sliding down quickly and stopped. He looked down with sweat on his brow and saw nothing. He dropped landing on his feet. Stepping down onto the surface below felt like the weight of ten thousand tons had pressed down upon him. For he was no longer in the safe hands of the confines of his room left to wait, he was now in mortal danger, more danger then he ever wished to be in. There was deafening silence, and the only sound that could be heard was the thumping of his pounding heart in his ears, but he knew that silence would end very soon, "What's happening?" asked Monica as Terry watched him below.

"He's there, he's looking around," Terry whispered, "Thanks."

"Make sure you watch him," Monica ordered, "I'll stay here."

"Go, go!" Terry whispered, looking downward. He un-looped the rifle around his shoulder and began walking pointing the gun out in front of him. He could barely keep from panting in fright as he slowly walked through the quiet alley drawing his rifle in front of him shakily and slowly etched his way down. He approached a door that led to a basement and slowly but surely tip-toed past it. The fence that separated the alleys rattled thunderously as he gasped in fright staggering into the wall as two of the walking dead caught his sight rattling the gates and groaning as he sighed in relief and continued making his journey.

He continued walking down the alley and turned the corner looking around as the silence seemed almost deafening for his own taste. It was too quiet for him, and that only happened when they were distracted or on to him. He looked around awaiting an attack but nothing came. He stood at the corner with his gun drawn and suddenly one appeared, a small teenage kid wobbled along the ground in a daze and turned to see Jose. As he turned Jose gasped as his face was torn off and seemingly chewed down to the bone, his skull partially peeking out at him in all its grim glory. "Move on," Jose whispered, "Just keep walking. Keep walking." It didn't seem to take his advice and approached him slowly, groaning faintly as he pointed the gun and shot.

It could be heard from the roof as Terry listened with alarm, and Jose was no longer in sigh, so he couldn't be sure what was happening. "Shit," Terry muttered waiting anxiously, "Come on, just be quick and quiet. You can do it." Jose continued down the alley way and continued walking, this time happening upon two dumpsters. He caught sight of three of the walking dead and quickly ducked down in between the dumpsters, a good hiding spot, but he'd surely be cornered if caught. But one of them was onto his scent, as if from out of nowhere one of them, a young male corpse followed him without his knowledge for twenty minutes. He watched as the three walking dead disappeared into the streets and stood up making his way down the alley.

He continued slowly walking down the alleyway, trying desperately to inhibit his breathing and panting from their earshot, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as the building he sought shelter in was slowly getting out of sight. The corpse that followed slowly crept up, upon him from behind not making a sound as he remained oblivious to its presence, but slowly as he staggered to him, he opened his mouth about to bite. Just then Jose pressed on dodging the attack without knowledge as the corpse fell to the floor groaning hungrily.

He finally emerged upon an open area that led to the basketball court surrounded by a barricade of buildings, all looking out onto him. He turned quickly around looking for any intruders and continued as suddenly a low growling emerged. He turned alarmed to see a black alley dog, standing in attack mode growling with foamy fangs. "It's okay," he whispered, "I'm human. See?" He stuck his hand out and tried to approach it as the dog continued growling. He knelt down and stuck his hand out him. The dog sniffed him for a second and looked up at him sustaining his growl. The smell wasn't familiar, it looked into his eyes as he tried to smile and began growling nipping at him as he pulled his hand back with a frightened gasp. Just then another one appeared from behind him growling ferociously. It was no use. They were out for flesh. They were right; it was no longer about surviving, they loved the taste, and human or not they were going to tear him to pieces. He looked at the two of them in shock attempting to comprehend what they were doing and now realized they were hungry and human or no human, they wanted to feast.

He stood still unable to figure out a sensible plan of action to avoid their inevitable attacks and slowly looped the rifle around his shoulder with soft pants. Looked up at the basketball court fence and made a break for it. He ran as the dogs barked aloud running after him and he leapt onto the fence climbing it quickly as they jumped up at him snapping angrily, and barked aloud. They watched him stagger back in fright and continued circling the front of the court awaiting his exit as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Shit," he muttered in surprise, "Fucking cannibals." He turned yelping in fright as he was suddenly jumped from behind by one of the infected. Whoever he once was looked like a basketball player and still walked the courts and stood atop him growling trying to bite at him as he fought it off holding up its head as he attempted to bite at his hand.

"Get the fuck off me!" He yelled, "Get off me!" He fought it off grunting aloud as it clawed and snapped at him. He managed to push him off him and dropped him to the floor and made a run for it. He stood in front of the gates as the dogs smashed against it growling hungrily and waited for it as he stood up, his eyes glazed over and groaned making his way to him, "Come on," he whispered, "Come on." He finally stood in front of him about to jump him again as he suddenly opened the door to the gate. The dogs pounced out from the behind the fence jumping atop the corpse and began viciously tearing him apart as he groaned in pain trying to fight them off. He rushed from out of the basketball court and closed the gate behind him as they fed on the infected corpses head as it groaned and growled.

He rushed down the alleyway and finally made it to the exit from the alley and looked behind him for any of them and focused his attention on the pharmacy that was across the street. When he was young he'd walk across the street in five minutes, but it's never looked so far, so distant to him than right then and there. Amidst the walking dead, scattered dead gazes, and countless rubble and overturned cars, this would take a lifetime for him to go across, and he knew he wouldn't make it. But he had to, and everything in his being told him to leave, but it was too late now. He'd gotten so far, and it was too late for him to turn back.

But there it was again, that corpse that had followed him through the alley, dodging the dogs, and obstacles stood behind him slowly creeping up on him grappling the wall as Jose never noticed his presence and finally rushed through the sidewalk cowering behind a car as the corpse groaned leaving the exit. Jose saw him finally as he approached him and picked his gun shakily, and shot him in the head as he fell back. He sighed in relief and knelt down looking around for any sign that he'd been discovered. Luckily none of them saw or heard him. "There he is!" Terry whispered looking at Jose from down the block as he stood on the ledge looking ahead.

"What's he doing?" asked Monica.

"Hiding behind a car," Terry replied.

"Damn, he's going to get caught," she replied, "what is he doing now?"

"Watching them walk through the street," explained Terry, "I think he's looking for a chance to make a break for it." Monica sighed awaiting a chance for him to run and instantly thought about what she should do to help. She pointed her rifle at the car in front of the pharmacy and shot twice. Jose looked around curiously and watched as the car blew up. The fire raged in the sky as he knew what she was doing. Another car exploded in the distance.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Terry asked angrily.

"Giving him cover," Monica replied, "The smoke will cover him, and the gas will throw off his scent." Jose sighed and stood up quickly and dashed over the cars and rubble across the street which felt like miles as he ran for his life panting heavily. Luckily the smoke and fire had distracted them long enough as he leapt into the pharmacy rolling along the ground. He stood up as one of the infected came toward him growling. He shot knocking him to the floor and panted heavily walking over him. He sat down cowering under the counter as they walked past the window.

He desperately restrained his pants not to be heard and breathed heavily through his nose as he covered his mouth and leaned his head back as the groans and growls and commotion could be heard outside the shattered windows. He quickly dug into his pocket picking out the empty medication bottle and crawled along the floor past the dead corpse. He wore a white jacket, the only kind that a pharmacist would wear, he was right about them haunting their previous locations. He crawled along the floor as shots rang out. He covered his head and looked back as the creatures fell like bricks on the ground.

"Come on," Monica whispered, "That's right, take the hint." She shot shooting one after the other in the head as Terry watched confused. They were smart enough to know they couldn't go into the pharmacy and began spreading out as the shots rang out in the air. Jose continued looking through the ground and quickly began picking through the medicine's one by one trying to find the match for the right medication. Quickly he ran his hands along the bottles one after another, after another, after another and still not a match. Finally he gasped softly sighing and picked up the big bottle that housed the medicine needed. He looked over head and didn't hear them and began to store the medicine shirt and finally had finished.

From within the darkness of the store room a face emerged and bit into his shoulder. He let out a loud grunt and squirmed struggling painfully. He grabbed his attacker by the hair as they dug their teeth into his shoulder and yanked it off as the attacker fell back onto the floor. He turned holding his shoulder and looked at the blood, "No, god no," he whispered. He turned as an older woman struggled to stand up from the floor. He pointed and shot her in the head angrily as she fell to the floor. He groaned holding his shoulder. It was a pain unimaginable by anyone, and he had been bitten hard. "Fuck," he whispered holding his shoulder. Now it was time to run like hell.

He turned to the door and dashed across the pharmacy running through the streets as they all caught his sight and groaned following him as he ran across the street dashing into the alley. They all crowded around him as he fought them off trying to get into the alley way and fought them, shoving them aside and shooting them in the stomach as he tried to get to the alley. "Fuck!" Monica yelled shooting them one by one.

"What!" Terry asked.

"They found him!" she yelled.

"Oh fuck!" Terry yelled, "God damnit! Is he dead?"

"No, he's fighting them off," Monica replied.

"Can't you do something?" he asked.

"I'm shooting as much as I can!" Monica replied, "They're crowding him fast!" He fought them off angrily shoving them and punching them as he desperately made his way across the street. One of them bit into his shoulder again as he cried out loudly and forced them off finally making it into the alley way. He ran quickly down the alley, turned the corner and rushed down the ghetto as they followed, clogging the passage behind him. He approached the basketball court and stood back as within a split second the dogs burst from the gate jumping into the crowds of zombies nearly missing him.

It held them up for only a second as they continued rushing to him. For a second he stood in a fork in the road and desperately looked for the passage to the ladder. He finally came to his senses and found the ladder and began running to the rope that reached down below to him, still. He jumped onto the ladder and began climbing up as their hands reached for him, grabbing at his sneakers and pants. "Hurry!" Terry screamed reaching for him, "Don't let go!" He clung onto the ladder growling aloud climbing with all his strength as they bit into his shins and calves hungrily. He let out a painful cry and kicked at them as they crowded around him and finally broke free from their grasps climbing up the ladder frantically climbing and climbing as he reached for Terry's arm.

Terry pulled him up as they watched from below. Monica jumped down from the ledge and ran to Terry and Jose helping as the ladder shook. Finally they broke it down rattling it, and Jose jumped at Terry as he grasped onto his hand, desperately pulling him up. "Don't let go! Don't let go!" Jose cried as he hung from the building. Terry grasped his hand crying out as he pulled. Monica grabbed onto Jose's arm and helped as they dragged him onto the roof shoving him over the ledge. He fell down in front of them gasped and grunting as they stood over him panting. "Shit!" Terry screamed looking down, "You mother fuckers!"

"Oh my god," Monica whimpered, "You're bitten."


	12. The Sound of Silence: Chapter Eleven

"I let my guard down," he replied, holding his shoulder, "I let my fucking guard down." They helped him up from the floor as he leaned against them and they quickly dragged him across the roof, blood from his legs leaking along the ground. "God…damn it…they bite hard," he whispered trying to walk, "You have no idea."

"Its okay, its okay," Terry whispered, "Come on."

"They're faster than I thought," Jose continued rambling, "Smarter. They hide, they walk faster than I thought…" They helped him down the stairs and quickly walked into the hall. "Set him down in his room," Terry whispered. They slowly eased him down in front of his bed sitting him down beside it as he groaned in a daze.

"Fuck," Terry panted with tears in his eyes, "It can't be."

"We have to do something," Monica beckoned.

"What?" Terry replied, "His shoulders, his-his legs, his ankles, his fucking ankles." He whimpered groaning in frustration as Dana entered looking in disappointment and began softly whimpering as she sat beside him. "No, not him," she whimpered softly, "Not him, please."

"Here," Jose said handing him a big bloody bottle of pills, "I did it."

"You did," Dana replied tending to his wounds, "You did good."

"You have to do something," Monica urged looking down with wide eyes his wound. "What?" asked Dana, "You have to kill him."

"Are you insane?" asked Terry, "Why?"

"He's been bitten," she explained, "A lot. He's going to turn."

"Stop being stupid," Terry argued, "He won't turn. He can't."

"Look at the bites!" Monica argued, "Two on his shoulder, and his leg is all chewed up!"

"Just shut up for a second," Terry ordered, "We're not going to kill him. That's murder."

"You're in denial," Monica replied, "Look at him, he's going to turn!"

"Shut up," Terry replied shoving her back as he went to Luis' room. "You might like killing people," Dana whispered, "but we don't. He's our friend." Jose began shivering softly not speaking as he gazed off at the wall, his wounds bleeding on his bed. Jose sat in his room beside his bed breathing very shallowly as he sat looking toward the window now panting and shivering. "Here," Terry said to Luis. He lifted his head and slipped the pills into his mouth and dropped water into his mouth as he swallowed slowly with a loud sigh. "There you go," Terry said laying his head on his pillow, "I'll be back." Jose sat at his bedside shivering in pain and leaned his head to the side pressing against the rag as blood dripped down his shirt. "Oh god," he said with a shiver, "Oh g-god…!"

"You're going to be okay," Dana said in tears, "You'll be fine."

"It hurts…so bad," Jose muttered looking ahead as Dana patched up his shoulder. "You'll be fine, okay?" Dana said, "You just fight it, you have to fight it."

"They bite hard, y'know?" he said with a quivering voice, "They bite down so fucking hard."

"S-h-h," Dana said patting his head as she tended to his wound, "Relax, just calm down." She stood up and walked off covered in blood as Terry watched, "How is he?" asked Terry. "Not good," she whimpered, "He's bitten… a lot." Monica walked to her room and took the revolver Jose left on the floor and picked it up. She spun the cylinder and walked through the hall with it in her hand. She swerved around them silently and walked into the room. Stood over Jose and drew the gun at the top of his head, "No!" Terry yelled rushing to her.

"I have to!" she yelled, "He's going to turn."

"Don't you touch him, you bitch!" Dana screamed.

"You don't understand!" Monica whimpered softly, "He's going to turn into one of them whether you like it or not!"

"No, he won't," Dana cried, "We'll help him fight it!"

"No!" Monica yelled, "I've seen it, I've seen it! He'll turn just like everyone else. You can't fight this, it's not the flu! He's going to turn into one of those monsters outside."

"How do you know?" asked Terry.

"He's going to die, Terry, wake the fuck up!" she insisted, "As a matter of fact, he's already dead, don't you see that?" She kept the gun pressing against his head as Jose looked up at her shivering without a word, "D…do it," Jose muttered looking up at her.

"You're talking crazy, you're just hallucinating or something," Terry argued, "You're not going to die, we won't let you."

"Kill him!" Devon screamed from his room, "Or he's going to kill you!"

"Shut up!" Terry screamed.

"He would never hurt us!" Dana replied.

"You don't get it," Monica said with a whimper, "He's going to kill you. It doesn't matter if he's your friend, or your best friend, or your neighbor, or your lover—once he dies he's coming back, and he's coming for you!"

"It's murder!" Terry yelled, "Don't you do it—!" She pulled back the hammer with a loud click as Dana yelped. Terry panted slowly approaching her. "You're nuts," Terry insisted, "Just like him, you hear me? We can help him, we can help him!"

"There's no helping him!" Devon urged frantically, "Shoot him, now!"

"It…it hurts," Jose muttered with incoherent mumbling.

"I'm sorry," Monica whimpered.

"No!" Terry jumped on top of her tackling her into the wall. She grunted knocking her head into the desk and dropped down hard onto the floor as Terry yanked the gun from her hand.

"No more killing!" He yelled throwing the gun against into the hall, "No more!" He quickly grabbed her legs and dragged her through the room out into the hall as her arms dangled and threw her onto her bed. He rushed into their room standing over Jose as he gazed up at him shivering and now very pale in skin dripping in sweat, and twitched his leg, "It doesn't hurt… anymore," Jose muttered to assure them, "It's….it's numb."

"See?" Dana said kissing his head, "It's okay, just relax, and you'll beat it."

"Kill me, please," Jose pleaded softly as he began whimpering like a child, "I don't want to be one of those monsters… please…I don't want to be one of them!"

"It's okay," Dana assured him kissing his head, "You'll be fine. They're just bites."

"It… it, hurts me," he whispered. He slowly leaned his head back on to the bed staring off into far space as the tears fell from his eyes and he began slowly gasping lightly with his mouth wide open. Slowly his breathing became shallower and shallower until finally he sighed taking his final breath. His arms dropped to the side and Dana raised her head looking at his wide eyes and gaping mouth. "Jose…?" she whimpered, "Jose? Jose! No!" She began crying atop him with painful cries and wiped the tears from his eyes as Terry sighed softly whimpering. "He can't be dead, he can't be!" Dana pleaded, "I promised him! I promised him he'd be okay!"

"I know," Terry muttered patting her back. Just then Monica came to and rubbed her head. Slowly she sat up and listened to the silence. She quietly crawled along the floor and reached for her gun gripping it in her hand and staggered along the hall holding it up. "I promised him!" she cried.

"Come on," Terry pleaded, "We have to cover him up."

"No, no," she whimpered.

"Come on," Terry closed his eyes with his hands and knelt down, "Get the blanket over there so we can wrap him in it." He knelt down next to him and picked up his legs grunting softly.

Suddenly, his eyes opened, pearly white, without pupils, and with a soft growl lunged. He dug his teeth straight into Terry's throat as Terry clenched his eyes shut and with a breath let out a horrifying scream into the city that echoed for miles. "Stop!" Terry pleaded as jose mercilessly ripped at his throat tearing the meat from his jugular, a gushing geyser of blood spewing like a sprinkler onto the bed. Jose tore from his neck a large piece of bloody meat growling aloud and jerked his head as Terry gurgled dropping back. Dana rushed in screaming in terror and as Jose went to attack Terry again. Dana knocked him down onto the floor and yanked Terry from the floor dragging him along as he gurgled attempting to scream, the blood leaking along the floor in puddles.

The now rejuvenated Jose growled squirming to get up from the floor and finally stood up with his eyes glazed over growling as Terry's blood poured form his mouth. He staggered along the floor, his leg still freshly injured and leaned against the door looking for fresh meat. Terry and Dana rushed past her as Terry gurgled aloud. She stood silent watching them run past her, the bathroom door slamming. Monica gasped aloud noticing Jose and quickly covered her mouth realizing he didn't see her. He jerked his head back and forth silently and turned towards the end of the hall hearing Devon panting. Devon squirmed in his seat weakening the back as Jose staggered at the doorway gazing at him with a slight sense of familiarity and then hungrily growled slowly making his way to him.

Devon saw him by the doorway and didn't bother to try to escape and lowered his head making eye contact with him. "Come on," he growled with a challenge, "Come and get it, I'm helpless." Jose growled and quickly staggered to him as Devon rose from his seat, still tied to it and rushed to him charging with a furious scream. He tackled him into the wall slamming into his stomach and repeatedly began butting him with a fierce growl, Jose groaned clawing at the back of the chair. Devon was pushed back staggering and turned slamming into him backward slamming him again and again, but it was a mortal mistake, for as he slammed into him, Jose dug his teeth into his shoulder biting down hungrily.

Devon yelled aloud in pain and tore his shoulder away. He began panting as Jose approached him again. This time Devon tackled him again knocking him into the hallway. Devon saw Monica with her gun standing with a blank look and rushed to her. "Get me out of this thing!" he yelled.

"Oh my god, your shoulder!" she said alarmed.

"Fuck that," he replied, "Just get me out!" She pulled and tugged at sheets furiously pulled as Devon began to finally break the chair down with his body and finally unwrapped the sheets as he tore the chair to shreds. He broke free from his restraints finally as Jose managed to crawl away to the corner.

"Where's Terry?" asked Devon.

"He got bitten," Monica cried.

"Come on," Devon said. They ran into their room standing by the bathroom as Dana sat over Terry who was gurgling and holding his neck wound squirming. "Please, please, please," Dana cried holding his wound, "Please, please!" She screamed. Jose walked over to the front door and growled hitting his hands against it as the growling outside began rising,

"Dana, open up!" Devon screamed, "You have to get out of there!"

"No!" She screamed. Monica pointed the gun to the doorway in case, as Devon began hitting the doorway, "Get out of there!" he screamed frantically.

Terry grabbed Dana's hand gurgling, unable to breath, as he looked up at her in tears. "Get out, now!" Devon screamed. She crawled over to the door locking it and stood against the door listening and whimpering as they screamed for her to leave. But it was no use. Terry finally gave way going limp, his pool of blood growing along the floor and turned his head finally dying. Dana whimpered as Devon urged her frantically, "Get out, now!" He screamed.

"No!" she yelled, "Please… just go away…"

Behind her, Terry sat up silently as she softly whimpered, and looked around curiously. He noticed her looking toward the door and with a soft growl lunged at her yanking her violently from behind. Jose stood up by the doorway of the hall and clawed and growled pulling at the wooden boards and slowly began tearing them from the frames as the dead on the outside forced their way in, the walking dead spewing from the small crack of the door like a dam had burst. Dana gave a horrible cry of terror as Terry mounted her, growling hungrily and dug his teeth into her cheek. She squirmed begging him to stop as he tore it off with his teeth, blood squirting all over the floor as she feebly tried shoving him off, and finally wrapped his teeth on to her throat as she gave a sharp yelp. She squirmed on the floor silently as he growled aloud chewing away at it. Devon could hear the attacks from outside the door and finally with all his might broke down the door.

He stood back with a gasp as Terry jerked his head up and looked over at them with a growl, chunks of Dana's meat all over his face, "Shoot him!" Devon yelled. She jerked her hand and shot blasting him in the head as he flew back into the wall with the force of the bullet. He turned his head against the sink and stopped moving as Monica panted, her eyes wide in fright. Dana still squirmed on the floor slowly dying from the severe and agonizing bites. Devon yanked the gun from her hand and blasted Dana in her head causing her to twitch as her terrified eyes stared into space. Devon and Monica walked into the hall to get Luis and stopped as groups of them, dozens appeared from the corner, their hands creeping from the corner and their scattered groans emerging around the room, gazing blankly with their eyes looking at them hungrily as they staggered slowly toward them.

"Oh—fuck!" Devon muttered running into his room. Monica shivered pointing the gun. She began shooting them in the head and looked over at Devon as he rushed to her, "What are you?" She blurted as Devon reached into his bag and pulled out a grenade. Monica gasped looking down and looked up as they began slowly advancing. Some of them entered Luis' room growling hungrily as Luis let out horrible shrieks, screaming in horror as they ambushed him without escape. He looked up with horror as they crept up In groups, rotted hands and claws grabbing and tearing as him, his limbs being torn from its sockets as he cried out in shrieks of pain and finally silenced as they took hold of his body parts. "Shithe bit my shoulder," Devon whispered as it bled. He handed her a box of bullets and held the grenade up with a half smirk as Monica and he began backing up. "I'll give you to the count of ten," Devon whispered.

"What? What about?"

"10…," he began, "9…" She turned and ran up the steps into the roof, turned to the endless row of roofs and ran like hell. She began climbing them and running, and she climbed and ran, "5… 4..," she muttered panting heavily as she ran for her life. Devon held the grenade finally being backed into a corner. Then they began grabbing at him tearing away at his arms and legs, every one of their mouths biting at his body as he let out a loud cry and slowly reached over to the grenade somehow being able to loop his finger on the pin and grunted, "2…1…god damn you!" He pulled and within a split second—boom! The thunderous explosion cast waves of fire and wind along the roof knocking her on her stomach as the waves of explosions scattered along the roof tops of buildings.

She stood up holding her revolver and continued running and climbing until she reached the ladder and quickly began climbing down the ladder as the explosions continued. She slid down the steps of the ladder which was half broke and fell on the ground and stood up gripping the revolver. She pointed left and right. The coast was clear. She held the box of bullets up and looked inside noticing only ten bullets lay, only four were in the revolver, the revolver that shot as loud as a cannon. It was the card she'd been dealt.

She stood in the empty alleyway looking up at the black smoke and flames coming from the top of the building. She wiped the tears from her eyes giving nothing more than a soft whimper and wiped the hair from her face. She held her revolver in her hand and then remembered what Devon said: If he died, to just move on. And she stayed true to her oath to him. She wiped the tears from her eyes and sighed with exasperation, placed her thumb on the trigger and moved on. She had no food, no water, no warm clothing, no supplies, no companion, no stealth, and low ammo. She didn't know where she was going, and who or what she'd stumble upon, but where ever she happened to go, she was no longer hiding, and no longer willing to climb mountains. She gritted her teeth, began making her way down the alley and decided that **_wherever_** she was going, she was going to walk there.

And there they were, in groups, to welcome her.

**THE END…**

… **Coming soon:** _The Dead Chronicles, Part Two: Midnight Rider – She used to be a celebrity, now she's just fighting for her life._

**Disclaimer:** Author Felix Vasquez does not own the rights to Dawn of the Dead or the concept. Characters, scenarios, and "The Dead Chronicles" are a copyright of Felix Vasquez.


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